


Any Old Music Will Do

by the_diggler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Background Character Death, Background Het, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Librarian Castiel, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multiple Partners, Public Sex, References to Illness, Romance, Rough Sex, Sex Work, Smut, Stripper Dean, Surprise Sex, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_diggler/pseuds/the_diggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can find him at The Inferno, dancing in his underwear in front of crowds of rabid women. For a little extra, he'll give you your own private dance, doesn't matter if you're a guy or a girl. For a lot extra, all the clothes come off, and Dean Winchester will do anything you want. Enter Castiel, the awkward librarian who asks Dean to take his virginity, then keeps coming back for more. Somewhere along the way, their roles change...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re picky about who tops or bottoms, or if you’re a die-hard shipper who can’t stand the thought of any other pairing beside your OTP, this fic probably isn't for you. Dean is an escort in this, so he gets around. But those of you who like your smut with a tiny bit of plot might enjoy this ;D

  
Dean is not a dancer. But he looks good in his underwear, has a decent sense of rhythm, and more importantly, has no shame whatsoever. Fake it ‘til you make it – is Dean’s motto, and it works well enough to land him a spot in the ‘Male Revue’ strip-show at The Inferno. Turns out that a few well-placed muscle poses, a couple random displays of calisthenics (seriously, who would’ve thought push-ups could be such a turn-on?), interspersed between a good amount of air-guitar and lip-syncing, and Dean is _boss_ of le strip. Or so the club’s owner Crowley tells him.  
  
Accessories help keep things fresh too. When he’s doing his cowboy routine, he’s got a whole bunch of tricks he can do with his hat, and some guns, and his shiny gold lasso. It’s his favorite getup. Not hard to twirl a night-stick around when he’s doing his cop routine either. And just last week he spent most of his fireman routine hosing down a bride-to-be and her bachelorette party with a fake fire-extinguisher full of whipped cream. They loved it. Especially the maid of honor.  
  
Now _she_ was a wild one. He would’ve taken her to bed for free if he didn’t already have a paying client lined up for the night.  
  
Dean is no hooker, though. Can’t even really call himself an escort either. He’s not that classy. He just enjoys sex. A lot. So he might as well get paid for it. Especially when Sammy needs all the help he can get paying for his fancy lawyer college over on the west coast.  
  
His brother’s smart as a whip, and a damn good-looking kid too, but there’s no way he’s got the skills to work a crowd of ladies like Dean does. And he’s too much of a prude to work a private party like Dean either. At least at the club, they have bouncers and clearly established rules of conduct that the guests have to follow. But at a private party, no one’s ass is safe. And that’s where the real money is.  
  
Dancing at the club is more like advertising. A preview of the goods, if anything. And the tips from that are a great addition to Crowley’s standard pay, but they’re nothing compared to what Dean makes offstage.  
  
It started a few years back, when one of Crowley’s friends came to the bar and liked Dean’s act. Dean had worked a few private parties already, and had already woken up in bed with one (or more) of the guests the following morning – but that night was a little different. That was Dean’s first private party _for one_.  
  
Now, The Inferno isn’t set up like the kind of strip clubs targeted to a male clientele, with private rooms for personal lap dances and such. The Inferno is a stage show. More of a theater than a bar, if anything. And although they have a ‘gentlemen’s night’ on Tuesdays, the clientele normally consists of women. Masses of loud, drunk, paying women.  
  
But apparently, being friends with the owner has its benefits. So on that fateful night, after his show, Dean found himself in another one of Crowley’s establishments. The kind that pays by the hour.  
  
As it happens, Crowley owns the crappy little hotel behind the club as well – The White Plains Hotel (more aptly nicknamed the White _Stains_ ). And for some reason the two buildings share the same boiler-room basement, giving the club direct access to the hotel’s service elevator. Eliot thinks the buildings were designed that way during the Prohibition era, as an easy escape route. Since they were behind each other the two establishments opened up on completely different streets, so even if the cops had one place surrounded, it wasn’t likely they would be keeping an eye on the next block over. Dean buys it. In fact, he’s pretty sure it was the major selling point for Crowley. There’s just something about the man that screams underground tunnels and easy escape routes.  
  
In any case, it’s ridiculously convenient. All Dean had to do that first time was take a short walk and an elevator trip up to one of the better rooms in the hotel, where Crowley had so generously set them up for free, and Dean was giving his first private lap-dance ever.  
  
Word got around. Requests for private performances happened more often. And they weren’t just from women either. Hell, most of the guys who worked male revue shows were gay. (Guys who spend that much time in the gym, and can actually dance? Come on.) It just meant Dean could expand his clientele. And have a lot more sex.  
  
But it wasn’t about that at first. It was just dancing to start with. A little more personalized attention while he shimmied around the room to some dirty Zep. Then one night, he might’ve had one too many drinks while he was with one of his regulars, and they’d offered him extra to dance naked. It was one of the most erotic experiences of his life. Which didn’t actually involve any sex, that is. But it wasn’t long before that was on offer to his other clients as well.  
  
Things escalated pretty quickly from there. By that point it was just too hard to resist, for both Dean, and his clients. They started paying him extra to watch him touch himself. And that was easy because the whole naked thing got him pretty turned-on to begin with. A little more extra and he let the client take care of their own business while they watched him get off. Not much more extra and Dean was the one taking care of the client’s business. First with his hands, then with his mouth, and finally, the full deal.  
  
_So_ much sex. So much _fun_. Every night was a party, but so much better because he didn’t have to waste any effort looking for someone to pickup – it was already arranged. And he didn’t have to worry about any awkward mornings after either, because everyone knew exactly what they were getting into from the start. And on top of it all, he got paid for it.  
  
It was easy and uncomplicated, and most importantly, Sam got a ‘free’ ride to Stanford. Though technically it was Dean doing the riding. Or being ridden. He likes it both ways, doesn’t matter.  
  
Dean wonders which way it’s going to go tonight.  
  
He’s in the middle of his act when he sees the guy. It’s the construction worker routine, which is great because there’s this steel cage he gets inside, hidden under a curtain until it gets wheeled onstage for his big reveal. Boy does the crowd go wild when they see him behind those bars. It works great for his cop routine too.  
  
He dances inside it for a bit, then around it, the bars sort of work like your good old-fashioned pole, after all – but the highlight of the act is when the lights go down, and he pulls out an angle-grinder, taking it right to the steel bars of the cage and sending bright sparks flying all across the stage. He’s gotten really good at angling the flow of the sparks too, making them flare out real pretty and sending a nice golden glow over his skin.  
  
But it’s when the lights go down on-stage that Dean can see the audience better as well. Then he can see all the way past the tables of frothing women, right to the bar. And sitting there, is this awkward looking trenchcoat with rumpled hair, too shy to look at him directly and trying to keep himself busy by drinking long gulps of beer. It’s freakin’ adorable.  
  
Dean smirks to himself as he sends one last spray of sparks across the stage, angling his body so it looks like they’re shooting suggestively from his crotch, and when he looks back up towards the bar, the guy has lost the battle, staring at him transfixed.  
  
Dean sends a wink his way. He can’t wait to see what’s under that trenchcoat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art by catcitycat for this chapter can also be found [here at her tumblr](http://catcitycat.tumblr.com/post/85785476752/). Please let her know how awesome she is <3


	2. It's just sex

  
Crowley finds Dean as soon as he’s done with his act, the sound of rabid, screaming women following him into the darkness offstage.  
  
“Did you see him?”  
  
“The trenchcoat? Yep. All good,” Dean replies, pulling his tips from his g-string as he heads for the showers.  
  
“That’s my star,” Crowley leers, clapping him on the back before scuttling off to make the arrangements. Crowley may be a capitalizing lech, but at least he always checks with Dean before any deals are made. Not that Dean’s ever really tested Crowley’s limits. Dean never says no. Unless his brother’s in town, or he’s too ill to get out of bed (meaning: too hungover).  
  
And even though Crowley takes 15% off the top of his earnings, at least Dean is assured a regular room at Crowley’s hotel to receive his many “admirers.” No charge, for however long he needs. With that comes a level of security as well, which he probably wouldn’t have if he was doing this on his own.  
  
Although, Dean suspects it’s also a way for Crowley to cover his own ass. Keeping his “dancers” on such a short leash keeps word from getting out that he’s running what is basically a brothel off the books. The man constantly complains about the laws not allowing him to run a “right and proper brothel” like back wherever-the-hell he’s from, but Dean suspects Crowley enjoys the spectacle of the revue even more. In any case, they’ve found a setup that’s pretty much win/win and a hell of a lot of fun for everyone involved.  
  
But _this_ guy. This friggin’ _edible_ trenchcoat, and the pair of _eyes_ on him, bright and blue even in the darkness of the hallway backstage… Every now and then someone comes along that makes Dean want to skip the private lapdance and jump straight into bed, and this guy is one of them.  
  
“Hey, I’m Dean,” he says, approaching the other man where he’s waiting outside Crowley’s office. The man turns, fixing those big baby blues on him, both innocent and world-weary at the same time, and Dean just blinks back at him, stunned.  
  
“Yes, I know.” And sweet jesus, what a growl of a voice on this guy too. “My name is Castiel.”  
  
Dean has to swallow hard before he can speak again. “Did Crowley already give you a key?” he asks, trying for a casual grin.  
  
“Yes, he did,” Castiel answers, holding it up. The room number on the attached tag reads 620 – Dean’s usual.  
  
“Okay, then. After you,” he says, opening the unmarked door to the boiler room a few feet away. “It’s just a short trip, then I’m all yours.”  
  
Dean can clearly see the blush that spreads across the guy’s face at that, all the way up from the pale flesh of his neck, and Dean kind of wants to lick it right then and there. But it also gives Dean a better read on the guy, and he starts to think he may not be able to get _Castiel_ (wow) into bed as quickly as he’d like after all.  
  
The awkward silence during the walk over confirms Dean’s suspicions. Although, to be fair, at first the other man seems more distracted by their surroundings than anything. It’s not every day one descends into a steamy boiler and finds themselves in an underground tunnel. Dean’s so used to it he barely even notices anymore.  
  
But when they step into the hotel’s service elevator there isn’t much to distract the other man, and that’s when Dean really picks up on his anxiety. The guy is pretty tense, whether from the kind of nervousness that usually comes with this kind of situation, or from something else, Dean can’t tell yet. But he knows he’s going to have to spend some time getting Cas to loosen up a little first before moving on to the main event. Dean can live with that. He enjoys a slow seduction just as much as a quick roll in the hay. And every time this guy throws one of those furtive little glances his way, Dean thinks he wouldn’t mind having those eyes on him for an extended amount of time.  
  
When they arrive on the sixth floor of the hotel Cas finally seems to relax a bit, their surroundings now at least a little more inviting than the utilitarian coldness of the service elevator. If Dean thought the man would’ve been receptive, he would’ve jumped the guy on the ride up already. He’s learned from experience that it’s so much better to get things started sooner instead of standing around twiddling your thumbs or making bullshit chit-chat, just _waiting_ for what you know is going to happen as soon as you get to the room.  
  
At least after the first time, anyone who comes back for more knows how to find their way on their own already, and Dean can just go ahead and wait for them in the room – maybe get naked in the meantime, take a shower if he needs to, linger there as in invitation for company – or, if he finishes his shower quickly enough, he’ll open himself up on his fingers, prep himself in advance so he doesn’t have to wait to get fucked – if he has more time after that, maybe he’ll grab himself a drink, dance slowly around the room to some tunes until he feels those blue eyes on him again, burning over his skin with every slow sway of his hips…  
  
Jesus. Dean hasn’t even gotten the man into bed yet and he’s already thinking about next time. When they finally get to their room, he practically _falls_ through the door, he’s so eager to begin.  
  
The first thing he does is head straight for the TV to plug his phone into the dock (thanks again, Crowley), and soon the sounds of Led Zeppelin begin quietly filling up the air. For his stage shows Dean usually prefers something like AC-DC get the crowd pumped up, but for these private dances he likes it slow and dirty, and has a playlist full of Zep and Bad Company and a bunch of other classic jams to set the mood.  
  
When he turns around again Cas is still hovering awkwardly in the doorway, staring at the bed with that adorable dread on his face, and Dean just can’t help himself. He begins sliding his jacket off, oh-so-slowly as he stalks towards the other man, and when Castiel’s eyes are drawn by the movement, Dean sees them dilate with desire. Dean knows how to take his clothes off for an audience, whether he’s dancing or not, and it doesn’t take much to make Castiel’s breath quicken. Stalking even closer, Dean lays his jacket over the edge of the loveseat next to the door, and effectively places himself a hair’s breath away from the other man.  
  
“What do you want, Cas?” he asks, slowly reaching up to push off the man’s trenchcoat. “You want me to dance for you?” he whispers as he leans forward, licking his lips as his eyes are drawn to the sight of the other man’s mouth up close, a little dry but full and pink and still so kissable. Dean hopes the proximity of their bodies will snap the man out of it, make Castiel reach out and take him, maybe right there against the door… but instead the guy looks like he’s about to hyperventilate from panic.  
  
Dean chuckles to himself as he eases away a little, laying Cas’ coat next to his own on the arm of the couch.  
  
“How about a drink?” he suggests instead, and Cas nods, swallowing thickly. Dean smiles, going to the honor-bar to pull a couple of beers out of the fridge - also free of charge, thanks to Crowley. Handing one over, he sits down on the loveseat, gesturing for the man to join him while leaving a respectable amount of distance between them.  
  
“So Cas, what do you do?” he starts out easy. Most people don’t really like to talk about the lives they’re so obviously trying to escape from, but this guy seems so far out of his comfort zone, Dean figures it might be the right place to start.  
  
“I work at the Library,” Cas replies. _Jesus_ what a voice.  
  
“A librarian, huh?” And damn if that isn’t all kinds of hot either. “You do alright with that?” Dean asks.  
  
“I have simple needs,” Cas shrugs. “Though it has been difficult lately, with Anna’s medical bills.”  
  
“Anna?” Dean asks cautiously. Wife? Daughter? There’s no wedding ring on Cas’ finger, not even a tan-line, but that still doesn’t mean Castiel isn’t attached. Then again, the guy wouldn’t have brought it up if the topic was off-limits either.  
  
“My sister. She was at the club last week for her birthday,” Castiel explains, and Dean has a completely unwarranted moment of relief, before it’s outweighed by confusion again.  
  
“The redhead? Yeah, I see the resemblance now,” he replies carefully. It’s in that big-eyed stare more than anything, seemingly innocent and ancient at the same time. But Anna had come across as a lot more frail, and that makes sense now. “She’s sick?”  
  
“Yes, she is. Which is why I’m here.”  
  
Uh-oh.  
  
Dean begins to panic a little. Is he about to get a fist in the face from angry big brother? Or is he about to get some kind of _other_ bad news? He’d been safe with her, but there’s always a chance…  
  
“She said you were very good to her. Very careful, and considerate. And she wanted me to thank you for that.”  
  
 _Huh?_  
  
“You see, that might’ve been her last birthday. So that might’ve been the last time she’ll ever be able to… spend the night with someone,” Castiel adds quietly.  
  
“…Oh.” Dean says, unable to think of anything else. It’s a sobering thought. She seemed like a nice girl, and he can’t really wrap his mind around the fact that he was supposedly her last hoorah. “Well, I’m glad it was good for her,” he finally says, sincerely.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel replies. “And it’s because of how you were with her that she made me promise to come see you.”  
  
“To thank me?” Dean asks, completely thrown. He has no idea what’s going on anymore.  
  
“No! Well, Yes,” Castiel stammers. “But also to…” he trails off, a flush creeping up his neck again. “You see, I’ve never…” Cas trails off again, his blush deepening as he makes a gesture with his hands – a familiar gesture, that should be lewd, but just comes across as awkward when Castiel does it – and suddenly, Dean gets it.  
  
“…You’re a virgin?” Dean exclaims. “How is that possible?” he blurts, before he can remember to be tactful about it. The guy is gorgeous. Drop dead. And if Dean saw him on the street, he would be _throwing_ his number at the guy, screaming that he takes his clothes off for money, and whatever else the guy wants. For free, even. If just to get the guy _laid_.  
  
Cas looks away, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. “Between work, and taking care of Anna… I just haven’t had occasion,” he mutters. “Which is why she made me promise to do something for myself,” Cas sighs. “The truth is… I’m just not very good with people,” he says quietly, biting his lip.  
  
Dean nods, setting his beer down on the side-table.  
  
“Well lucky for you, Cas, I’m _great_ with people,” he says, sliding closer.  
  
It’s almost comical, how Castiel tries to back away from him when he leans close, but there isn’t far to escape on the couch, and all Dean has to do is keep leaning in until they’re practically sharing the same breath. There’s unmistakable desire in the man’s eyes, but his body language still screams of panic, so instead of just kissing the guy like he wants to and getting things started already, Dean alters his plan of attack. It doesn’t take much to shift his body as he leans forward, swinging a leg over to straddle Cas' lap and make it seem like that was his intention all along.  
  
“Is this okay?” Dean murmurs, still close enough to share each other’s breath.  
  
“Um…” Castiel replies, and pressed as close as they are, Dean feels the rumble of his voice all the way through his chest. Dean knows it wasn’t meant to be sexy, but it makes him want to arch his back and purr like a cat, and he can’t help but hum appreciatively in response. His hips begin to move, spurred on their own volition, grinding in Castiel’s lap and teasing them both with an easy friction.  
  
“How about, when you work out what you want, you just tell me,” Dean murmurs, reaching for Castiel’s collar. “And until then, you just tell me ‘no’ if I’m out of line, okay?” he says, looking Castiel directly in the eye to make his point. Castiel nods, and a small grunt escapes his throat that Dean takes as a sign the guy understands, even if he isn’t capable of articulating it at the moment.  
  
“Relax, Cas,” Dean croons, cupping Castiel’s jaw, “It’s just sex, it’s not the end of the world,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear. “You’ll see. I’ll show you,” Dean grins.

Still grinding in time to the music, he begins unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt, slowly peeling it away to reveal a pale, but leanly muscled body, and Dean finds himself humming in appreciation again. Slowly, he slides his hands up Castiel’s chest, fingers just brushing his nipples on the way, but Cas doesn’t miss it, breath hitching in response to the minute tease. So sensitive. But still so tense. Dean keeps sliding his hands upwards, until he’s cupping Castiel’s neck, then he fans his fingers outwards, gently massaging the tightness out of Cas’ shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean sighs as Castiel begins to relax. “Just take it easy and let me do the work. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Cas,” he murmurs against Castiel’s ear.

“Mmm, Dean,” Castiel moans, finally finding his voice again. And again Dean finds himself shuddering at the sound, unable to help himself. He leans back, giving Castiel a better view as he slowly lifts his shirt up, tugging at it in time with the grinding of his hips until there’s nowhere left for it to go but off. And then Castiel’s gaze positively burns over Dean’s naked skin, so heavy with desire, Dean feels it like an actual touch.

He grabs Castiel’s hands from where they’ve settled uncertainly on his still-clothed hips, and pulls them upwards, pressing them to his bared chest. Castiel’s breath hitches as his palms come into contact with Dean’s skin, but he seems reluctant to explore, though his eyes clearly tell Dean that he wants to. So Dean uses his own hands to guide Castiel’s across his skin, using the path of Cas’ gaze as his direction.

Castiel barely makes a noise, other than a few shaky hisses of breath here and there. But Dean murmurs low words of encouragement every now and then, letting Cas know when and where he likes to be touched. It isn’t long before Cas has mapped out every inch of Dean’s skin that he can, and the only way left to go is south.

Dean’s more than fine with that. Lifting himself up on his knees, he unzips the fly of his jeans, pushing them down around his thighs. He’s already half hard – it’s obvious through his boxer briefs – and as he slowly undulates his hips, right in front of Cas’ face, Cas simply can’t look away. The word ‘snake-charmer’ pops into Dean’s head, and he has to bite down a laugh.

Just as soon as the thought comes, though, it’s replaced by frustration. Anyone else would’ve been grabbing at Dean’s boxers already, copping a feel, or even better, sucking him down. Castiel especially has a set of lips on him that are just _begging_ to be fucked, already parted with heavy breaths and looking for all the world like he’s salivating for it. But Dean understands that the lack of action means it’s too soon for the guy, that he’s going to have to work for it a little harder.

Kneeing his way off the couch, he kicks his jeans off altogether, but when Castiel’s eyes flare slightly with panic again, Dean decides to leave his boxers on. This time, when he steps towards the couch again, he turns around to sit himself on Cas’ lap. He lowers himself down slowly though, giving Cas plenty of time to adjust to what’s happening, and it’s with no small amount of satisfaction that Dean feels Cas hard against his backside.

Dean smirks as he begins to rock his hips again, stretching out across Cas’ body as he grinds his hips down, giving the other man an eyeful of his bare torso and everything happening below. Finding Cas’ hands again, he presses them to his skin, retracing the paths he showed Castiel before. Cas still touches him with curious fingers, but to Dean’s delight, the other man remembers his sensitive spots, paying extra attention to them.

“Yeah, touch me, Cas,” Dean moans. It drives him a little crazy, what with the hard line of Cas’ dick rubbing up against his ass at the same time. It’s long but not too thick, just how Dean likes, and all he would have to do is push down his boxers, reach behind him to unzip Castiel’s fly, and he could just bounce on it. Dean grabs Castiel’s hand, cupping it around his now-full erection. “See how hard I am for you, Cas?” he gasps.

“Dean,” the man growls, right in his ear, and Dean’s entire body shudders in response. He shoves Castiel’s hand down the inside of his boxers, and when Cas’ fingers wrap around him, Dean groans with relief. His hips begin to writhe even more, thrusting up into the man’s fist and rubbing back harder against Cas’ erection. He instinctively twists his neck around, drawn by the other man’s breath on his ear, maybe seeking out the man’s lips, but he ends up finding Castiel’s eyes instead, and once that happens Dean forgets all else. Soon all they’re doing is breathing into each other’s mouths, eyes locked together, their hands and bodies having forgotten the urgency of their rhythm.

His body seems to move on its own then, turning around so he can see the other man better, press even closer. But the shift seems to startle Castiel, and the man goes tense again, pulling back a little. Dean reaches up to cup his hand around the back of Cas’ neck, moving slow, as if dealing with a skittish animal, and strokes the man’s pulse point soothingly with his thumb. Cas’ body may be rigid and resisting against his own, but his eyes flutter closed at the touch, and Dean feels a sigh of submission against his lips before he closes the remaining distance.

It takes more coaxing to get Castiel’s lips to relax as well, to get his mouth to move with Dean’s and open up to Dean’s tongue. But when Cas begins to respond, something finally clicks into place, and Dean knows he’s got him. If he’d known all it would take would be a kiss, Dean would’ve done it in the first place.

Cas’ lips are every bit as soft as Dean thought they would be. If not softer. And he kisses like someone who’s almost forgotten how – maybe he has, Dean supposes – but while he’s  tentative at first, he quickly remembers the motions, responding to Dean’s every move with deepening fervor. And the sounds he makes, every time Dean kisses him… like he’s been starved for it. Again, Dean realizes, he probably _has_ been.

It isn’t long before Dean wants to put his lips everywhere he can. Now that he’s finally getting the reaction he wants from the man, Dean wants more of it. More of those sounds, those groans and sighs, more full-body tremors and shivers, hands grasping at his shoulders hard enough to bruise. He learns the shape of Cas’ jaw against his lips, the feel of Cas' stubble and the taste of his skin, on the sensitive spot right below Cas’ ear. He plays there for a while, grinning against Castiel’s neck when the man starts rutting up into him again, body moving fluidly against Dean’s now. But there’s much more playground for Dean’s lips to explore – the pale length of a neck, the smooth expanse of a chest, dark rosebud nipples so _ready_ to be nibbled on – _oh_ the sounds Castiel makes _then_. And when Dean’s fingers find Cas’ fly, there’s a treasure-trail of soft, dark hair, just _waiting_ to be travelled.

Dean slides to the floor in a heap, palming himself through his underwear as his lips explore southwards. When his mouth finally closes around Castiel’s covered cock, he finds the other man’s underwear already wet with pre-come, a dark patch at the end of Castiel’s long, and very hard dick. Dean can only stand to mouth at it a few seconds, the taste and heat of it too tantalizing. He doesn’t want to pull his hand away from his own erection, but he wants Castiel’s dick in his mouth even more, so he reaches up to pull the other man’s briefs down, setting it free.

Dean didn’t think it was even possible, but the guy even _tastes_ like a virgin – real _clean_ , and _pure_ – it makes Dean want to suck at him all night. But it’s not just Cas’ taste that Dean likes. He likes the way Cas _feels_ as well, so hot and heavy in his mouth, smooth and hard and long – Dean knows it’ll feel just as good in his ass as it does in his mouth. Better even. Much, much better.

Cas has no idea though. By the way the guy’s gnashing his teeth, trying to keep down his cries, back bowed off the couch in a full-body arch – Dean can tell this is a good as Cas has ever gotten. And it reminds Dean of why they’re there, and exactly what the man has asked him for. With a pained groan, Dean reluctantly pulls his lips off Castiel’s cock.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Dean curses under his breath. Now that he can hear his own breathing again, Dean is surprised to find himself panting, hard, just as worked up as Castiel is.

“Dean?” Cas gasps, eyes glazed and blinking in confusion.

Dean reaches up and takes Castiel’s beautiful dick in his hand, fisting it loosely and pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along its length. “I want to feel this in me so bad, Cas,” he murmurs, barely pulling his lips away from Castiel’s skin. “But that’s not what you want, is it?” he says, finally looking up, and when Cas’ eyes lock onto him Dean slowly slides his hand underneath the other man’s ass, pressing his fingers up through Castiel’s clothes, right against his entrance.

Castiel’s whole body shudders at that, and the sound he makes is something halfway between a sob and a sigh.

“Yeah, that’s what you want, baby, isn’t it?” Dean murmurs, massaging him softly. Cas whimpers and nods, legs falling farther apart in invitation, and Dean groans. “You’re so ready for it too, aren’t you sweetheart?” he breathes, and Cas whimpers again. Dean grins, pulling his hands away to reach for Cas’ fingers instead, prying them loose from where they’re clenched in the couch pillows. Then, standing up off the floor, Dean pulls Cas up with him, walking backwards to the bed and leading Cas forward.

Cas doesn’t look afraid anymore, but Dean’s not entirely sure if the man’s fully aware of his surroundings anymore either. Instead Castiel’s eyes are focused on Dean’s face – or Dean’s lips, to be exact –  seemingly entranced and licking his own lips as he leans closer and closer. And then Cas is all over him, devouring his mouth, and they’re so far wrapped up in each other even Dean barely notices when they fall back onto the bed.

It’s a struggle getting the rest of Cas’ clothes off, while they’re rolling around on the mattress, grinding up against each other. But Dean manages it somehow, without having to unlock his lips from Castiel’s at all. And when they finally press up against each other, nothing but skin on skin, they both groan in relief at the hard-won victory. Cas _clings_ to him, needy and _gagging_ for it, far from the shy and awkward creature he was earlier. That is, until Dean tries to roll him onto his stomach.

“No. Wait,” Cas gasps. “I want to be able to see you,” he says, biting his lip nervously, and Dean suddenly gets what Cas wants, remembering their earlier conversation about how Dean had been gentle and careful in bed.

For a second, Dean is surprised. Most guys don’t usually need to look at his face, preferring to take him from behind, and whether he gets off is his own business. The ones that want to _be_ taken, similarly prefer to have their face pressed into the pillows – no real involvement – just letting Dean work his magic. It’s usually the women who ask for sweet little love-fucks, complete with kissing and eye-contact and hugging afterwards. But if that’s what Cas wants, then sure. Dean’s always willing to oblige.

“Yeah, okay, Cas,” Dean replies, “I can do that.” Hell, with eyes like those? Dean’s _more_ than happy to stare into them. In fact, he feels a little like he just scored the jackpot. Because those eyes… they’re really something else.

He barely looks away as he opens Cas up on his fingers, careful and slow – as slow as he _can_ when he feels how tight and hot Castiel is inside. Dean’s used to bottoming, it’s usually what men expect from him, so it’s rare for him to want to be inside another man so bad. But he does. The way Cas opens up for him, shaking and clinging to him – it’s not just how good Cas feels, but the way Cas responds to every touch, every little crook and stretch of his fingers. And when Dean _finally_ pushes into Castiel, as slowly as his patience allows, Dean starts to understand why people make such a big fuss about virgins.

Dean’s heard guys talk about it before, but it’s never really appealed to him, preferring partners with experience. But the way Castiel responds to everything, with such wide-eyed surprise and utter abandon to every new sensation, it’s kind of a rush. Dean barely even has to touch Cas to get some kind of response, some groan or whimper or an stretch of his spine. So Dean doesn’t do it too much. Just a light brush of fingers across Cas’ skin here and there, down the back of his thigh, up across his nipples, tracing along his jaw. And Dean finds himself doing it not just to make Cas feel good, but because every time he does, Cas is going to remember it. From now on, every time someone touches Castiel that way, he’s going to remember Dean.

It’s the kind of possessive thinking Dean never thought himself capable of, but it’s just… those eyes. He doesn’t know what it is, but they make Dean feel like he’s both drowning and floating at the same time. And he doesn’t think he could look away if he tried.

Dean doesn’t even realize he’s talking until Cas starts whimpering his name. And then he hears himself whispering things like, “Yeah, Cas, give it up for me,” and “Fuck, you’re so good,” calling Castiel things like “sweetheart” and “baby” and “angel,” all kinds of endearments he usually saves for the ladies, but he just can’t seem to stop them from spilling out of his mouth now. Especially not when Cas keens and moans his name so sweetly in response.

Dean doesn’t even have to touch Castiel to make him come. And even though Dean knows he’s been gentle and slow, when it happens, it still feels like it happens all too soon. Still, the feeling of Castiel’s body clenching around him, and the look in Castiel’s eyes as he comes with someone inside him for the first time, it’s too much for Dean. He can’t hold out any longer, spilling over the edge and coming deep inside Castiel’s body, eyes probably just as wide and shocky, and unable to look away for any of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lapdance art by catcitycat can also be found [at her tumblr](http://catcitycat.tumblr.com/post/86217444382), with a [bonus NSFW piece](http://catcitycat.tumblr.com/post/88187485382)!!! Be sure to give her some love from me please :D


	3. It's not the end of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna dies. Cas grieves. Dean tries to help. And it's all downhill from there...

  
Dean doesn’t expect to see Castiel again. The guy got what he wanted, after all – virginity well and truly fucked _right_ out of him. But Dean’s not really surprised when Cas comes back either. The man may have come to him to fulfil a simple request, but it turned out to be a pretty damn good night, for Dean as well. So, sure, Dean is glad to see him again.  
  
Not to mention, the guy is _hot,_ after all. And Dean wouldn’t have even thought it was possible, but the second time is even hotter than the first. Cas is a little less hesitant the second time around, a little more greedy, now he knows what’s coming. He evens moans Dean’s name more, louder, like he’s been practising. And doesn’t that thought bring a grin to Dean’s face, every time it happens.  
  
The third time Cas comes back, Dean _knows_ the guy is sweet on him, because the first thing Cas does is go down on him, worshipping his cock like it’s God’s gift to man. And he doesn’t know if it’s just that Cas has already learned all his tricks, or that Cas was never a virgin in that sense to begin with, but he doesn’t really care. It’s been so long since anyone’s done that for him, Dean comes so hard he screams.  
  
He rewards Cas for it by eating him out, nice and slow, then fucking him good and hard, all night long. And in the morning when Cas’ voice is hoarse from screaming, and the man can barely walk to the door, Cas actually asks if Dean would _mind_ if he kept coming back. If Dean wasn’t sure the guy had a crush on him already, that there would’ve been a dead giveaway.  
  
But Dean’s not really worried about it. He’s used to it. It’s not the first time a client’s gotten attached to him. Not the first time, and not the only one Dean’s _currently_ sleeping with that has a crush on him. As long as Cas doesn’t turn out to be some kind of psychopath then it’s not a problem. In fact, Dean thinks it’s a little adorable.  
  
Not that he would ever admit that. To anyone. Including (especially) himself. Acknowledging the fact that he kind of likes it is a slippery slope he isn’t about to let himself fall down. Not when it never lasts anyway. No matter how much of a crush a client thinks they have, they always get over it eventually. It’s not real. Dean’s just playing a role, fabricating a fantasy to fulfill whatever needs can’t be satisfied elsewhere.  
  
It certainly keeps his sex-life interesting though, that’s for sure.  
  
“Winchester,” Crowley barks in his permanently whisky-burnt growl of a voice. “Management had some complaints about the noise last night,” he scowls. “Kindly remember that we’re not _actually_ running a brothel, and that we actually have legitimate, paying guests staying there as well.”  
  
“Aw come on Crowley, you make more money off us boys than all your _legitimate_ guests combined,” Dean shoots back.  
  
“Nevertheless, we don’t want to draw attention from the local constabulary. Any more than you _already_ draw, that is,” Crowley smirks. “Eliot’s waiting for you at the bar, by the way.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. I’m heading upstairs now,” Dean grins to himself, wondering if Eliot might use his handcuffs on him tonight, and feeling a little giddy at the possibility. But then thinking about Eliot reminds Dean of Cas’ Columbo-coat, and he remembers why he came into Crowley’s office in the first place. “Oh yeah, I’m giving that Castiel guy a permanent go ahead too.”  
  
“Mmm, I thought you might,” Crowley leers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Lips like those? I would _love_ to slip my cock right in between them. Have you tried yet? Bet they’re fantastic.”  
  
“That’s none of your business,” Dean snaps, drawing back in shock almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  
  
Crowley’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline at the outburst, and he pointedly looks down at Dean’s hands, where they’re fisted at his sides.  
  
Dean forces his fingers to unclench, staring at them in bewilderment. He doesn’t know why he reacted like that. It just came out of nowhere.  
  
“A little touchy today, are we?” Crowley taunts, tsking at him. “Didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night?”  
  
And just like that, Dean finds himself fighting down another burst of anger. Because, no, he and Cas barely got any sleep at all last night. And so what? Big deal. But for some reason it feels like Crowley’s hitting too close to home. Dean can’t even think up a snarky comeback as Crowley circles him, like a hound going in for the kill.  
  
“For the record, Dean, your little sexcapades _are_ my business. Don’t forget that,” Crowley sneers. And Dean _knows_ that, but he can’t explain why it still makes him want to clock the man. Crowley must sense it off him too, because he eventually concedes, backing out of Dean’s personal space with a condescending eyeroll. “But I suppose it is _good_ business to respect your client’s privacy,” Crowley sighs overdramatically. “Do what thou wilt. I’ll put him on the list,” he says, waving dismissively at Dean.  
  
Dean takes the brush-off for what it is and leaves. But even after he’s put a good distance between him and Crowley’s office, Dean finds his hands are still trembling, and he has to take more than a few deep breaths to make them stop.  
  
And that right there, should’ve been Dean’s first hint that he might be in trouble. Sure, Crowley is a grade-A sleazeball, and Dean wants to punch his face in on a regular basis, but the man’s never managed to get under Dean’s skin like _that_ before.  
  
But hand-in-hand with Dean’s motto of _‘Fake it ‘til you make it,’_ goes _‘Deny ‘til you die.’_ So that’s what Dean does. Passes it off as some kind of sleep-deprived post-coital endorphin crash. A one-time thing. And if by some chance it should happen again, well… Cas will tire of him eventually and move on. Like they all do. And then it won’t even be an issue anymore.  
  
The thing is, though, Cas just keeps coming back. Almost every week. Sometimes even more. So often, that Dean actually starts feeling a little guilty about it. Guilty about leading him on. A guy like Cas deserves to have someone of his own. Or least be out there looking for them. He shouldn’t have to waste his time and money on Dean. (And that should’ve been another sign).  
  
But deny, deny, deny. It’s not Dean’s problem, anyway. And the sex just keeps getting better and better, every time. So Dean just focuses on enjoying the ride, and tries not to think too hard about the inevitable day Cas stops coming to see him.  
  
~  
  
That day comes sooner than Dean expects. And it’s not because Cas finally decides to find someone else. No, it all started with Anna, and it ends with Anna.  
  
It’s nearly 4:30 am when Cas gets the call. Dean’s already half-awake anyway, nose buried in the back of Cas’ hair and slowly rubbing up against his rear, working up the interest to suggest another round. But when Cas’ phone rings, it sends the man flying out of bed, scrambling frantically through his discarded clothes to find it.  
  
At first Dean is annoyed. Castiel was such a warm, wonderful weight in his arms, and then suddenly all Dean has is a face full of pillow. (Granted, a nice smelling pillow, but still). And Dean doesn’t know _anyone_ who answers their phone at 4 and the hell o’clock in the morning. Well, maybe his clients in law enforcement, like Eliot… But even Dean’s married clients don’t jump to answer their phones like that. Especially not on the first ring.  
  
Well, that’s probably because if they’re with Dean in the first place, they’re probably trying to escape the whole married thing for a night anyway. But still. Dean finds himself bristling at the reminder that there may be more important things to Castiel than staying right there, in bed with Dean.  
  
As Dean keeps watching though, his annoyance gives way to concern. Castiel’s barely said hello to whoever’s on the line before he’s heading straight for the bathroom, turning the sink on to clean himself off. Less than a minute later Castiel comes back out and starts pulling on his clothes, phone still in hand and barking short, curt answers into it. And there’s something so efficient about the whole process that tells Dean this is something Cas does often – pulling himself together with almost military precision, ready to go at a moment’s notice. For a second Dean thinks Cas might actually _be_ in the military or something, until he sees the barely concealed panic in Castiel’s eyes.  
  
“Is everything alright?” Dean asks when Castiel ends the call.  
  
“It’s Anna,” Castiel replies. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” he says, and that’s when Dean remembers Castiel’s sick sister.  
  
“Is she okay?” Dean asks, not bothering to cover himself as he stands up off the bed, his frown mirroring Castiel’s.  
  
“They’re not sure yet,” Castiel answers. “I’m sorry, Dean, I don’t want to leave, but I have to. I’m the one taking care of her.”  
  
Dean tries to give Castiel a reassuring smile as he pulls Cas close, but he thinks it comes out more resigned than anything. When Castiel sags into his arms, clinging onto Dean with a shaky sigh, it just makes Dean want to hold him all that tighter. “Tell me somethin’, Cas,” Dean murmurs into his hair, “Who takes care of _you_?”  
  
Maybe he’s not really thinking when he says it. Because when he _usually_ says it, it’s a lot more playful, and it’s almost always answered with some variation of, “Why, _you_ do, Dean.” To which Dean will usually reply with something snarky and teasing like, “Damn straight, I do,” and, “Don’t forget it,” followed by, “Now which part of you would like some ‘taking care of’ next?” …with obvious repercussions.  
  
But Dean forgets to be playful about it when he asks Cas. And Cas just gives him this… _look_ in response. And Dean can see in Cas’ eyes that he wants to say something, he even takes the breath to say it, but then he doesn’t. His eyes dart away, shoulders slumping a little as he exhales with a sigh.  
  
“It’s not-- I don’t--" Cas mumbles, before taking another deep breath and looking up again. “She’s the only family I have left.”  
  
“Hey,” Dean croons, reaching up to cup Castiel’s cheeks with his hands, stroking his thumbs soothingly across Castiel’s skin. “I get it, Cas. Really, I do,” he murmurs. “It’s going to be okay.”  
  
He leans forward to kiss Castiel then, and when they finally pull apart, Cas gives him a small smile.  
  
“That’s better,” Dean grins. “Would’ve hurt my pride if you’d left here without a smile on your face.”  
  
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmurs, before slipping out the door.  
  
But that isn’t the last time he sees Castiel.  
  
A few weeks later, Anna dies. Cas comes to Dean after the funeral, a complete wreck. He looks exhausted from trying to hold it all together, and Dean’s afraid to touch him, he looks so close to breaking.  
  
Dean doesn’t even know what to say either, having learned from personal experience how ineffectual the usual platitudes can be. He remembers what it was like when his dad died. The shock of it, the numb disbelief, the anger and isolation of having deal with things like funerals and wakes and endless condolences that eventually seem to lose all meaning and sincerity, when all you want to do is crawl into a corner and sleep for a week. At least.  
  
“What do you need, Cas?” Dean asks him instead. “Tell me. Anything you want,” he says. And even though it’s a phrase he’s used countless times, he’s rarely ever meant it as much as he does now.  
  
“Can I-- Will you-- Can we just lie down for a while?” Cas replies wearily.  
  
“Yeah, sure, Cas,” Dean says, and he gets it. He knows what Cas needs. Taking Castiel by the hand, Dean gently leads the man towards the bed. He carefully helps Castiel out of his trenchcoat and suit jacket, stripping off a couple layers himself before loosening Cas’ tie, and lays Castiel down, pulling him into his arms.  
  
Cas hadn’t explicitly asked for it, but Dean knows he just wants to be held. It makes Dean wonder just how really alone the guy must be in the world, to have to come to someone like him for such a basic comfort like this. Someone whose time he has to pay for. Not to mention, someone who had slept with his sister first. The sister who then had to recommend Dean to her own brother because Castiel was supposedly incapable of finding anyone else.  
  
Dean’s aware that on paper, his previous involvement with Cas’ sister makes the whole situation sound a little messed up. But it hadn’t stopped Cas, and it sure hadn’t put Dean off either. It’s certainly far from the most fucked up thing Dean’s ever done anyway. Besides, if things hadn’t played out that way, Castiel might be _totally_ alone right now. And Dean’s glad he isn’t. Dean may not be the ideal person for this, but at least Castiel has _someone_ right now.  
  
At least when John died, Dean still had Sam, and they’d helped each other through it. There’d been a lot of yelling and drinking, and maybe it hadn’t been the healthiest grieving process, but at the end of the day they were still family, and they still had each other.  
  
Dean doesn’t know what he would’ve done without Sam then. What he would _do_ without Sam, at all. The thought makes him shudder, holding onto Castiel all that tighter – holding Castiel _together_ , as the man falls apart in Dean’s arms.  
  
~  
  
“Hey, Sammy.”  
  
 _“Dean, hey! It’s been a while.”_  
  
“Yeah, well, you know me, living the life. How ‘bout you? How’re you doin’?”  
  
 _“I’m good. Got a big essay due in a couple of days that’s been driving me up the wall, though.”_  
  
“I’m sure you’ll ace it. Like you always do.”  
  
 _“Thanks, Dean. I wish I could remember what my bed looks like though. Or the inside of my shower.”_  
  
“Ew, dude. How does Jess put up with you?”  
  
 _“I don’t know. I really don’t. Dean… I’m thinking of asking her to marry me.”_  
  
“…What? For real?”  
  
 _“Yeah, for real.”_  
  
“You didn’t get her pregnant, did you?”  
  
 _“Dean!”_  
  
“Just kidding, Sammy. I mean…Wow. That’s... Wow.”  
  
 _“I know, right?”_  
  
“Well it’s probably for the best. No one else is going to take you.”  
  
 _“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”_  
  
“No, but really, little brother. That’s great news.”  
  
 _“Thanks, Dean. I’ve already got a part-time job lined up so I can start saving up for the ring and the wedding and everything...”_  
  
“You know if you need help I got you covered, right?”  
  
 _“Yeah, I know. And thanks. One of these days you’re going to have to show me these infamous cocktail making skills they pay you so much for.”_  
  
“Well, Sammy, you know it’s not just the drink, but the _service_ that comes with it. And the better the service the better the tips.”  
  
 _“Uh-huh. You mean the more you flirt, the more you get tipped.”_  
  
“Now, now Sammy, it’s my flirting that’s putting you through law school.”  
  
 _“And you know I’m grateful, Dean. But I am old enough to have a job now too, you know.”_  
  
“Yeah, but it’s my job to take care of _you_. So let me do it. Besides, who’s going to bail me out when I finally get arrested for indecent conduct in a bathroom?”  
  
 _“…”_  
  
“You’re making a bitch-face right now, aren’t you?”  
  
 _“Jerk.”_  
  
~  
  
  
“Oh fuck oh _fuck oh fuuuck!_ ” Dean gasps as he comes all over himself, his client pounding into him hard and fast and right on target.  
  
Well, he likes to think of Eliot as more of a sugar daddy than a client, if anything. Eliot is one of those guys who are so completely consumed by their jobs they don’t have the time or patience for romance, so they end up finding guys like Dean to satisfy their needs. But since Eliot is a Fed, he doesn’t go through Crowley’s usual channels. He never just pays Dean straight out for sex either. Instead he leaves money behind “for the room” or “for some new clothes” or so Dean can “go see a show” or something like that. And that way they manage to get around the illegal aspects or their “relationship.”  
  
Eliot is pretty classy for a Fed though, right down to the long overcoat he always wears. It reminds Dean of Cas sometimes, though Cas’ trenchcoat is a lot more lived-in and rumpled.  
  
“Well, that hit the spot,” Eliot huffs, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning his elbows on his knees as he catches his breath.  
  
“Sure did,” Dean chuckles breathlessly. Eliot laughs.  
  
They take turns cleaning themselves up in the bathroom, and on the way back to bed, Dean stops by the minibar and brings over a couple glasses of whisky.  
  
“Well, aren’t you thoughtful,” Eliot grins, accepting a glass.  
  
“You love it,” Dean smirks. Eliot hums in appreciation as he swallows down a gulp of the fiery liquid, smacking his lips in satisfaction. When the man turns to Dean again, there’s something contemplative in his eyes.  
  
“When you gonna settle down, kid? Find someone special,” Eliot murmurs. Out of nowhere.  
  
Dean blinks in surprise. Not just at the rare moment of sentimentality, but at the question itself. It’s not something Dean’s really thought about. But now that Eliot’s brought it up, Dean thinks it might be something he’s always wanted, deep down.  
  
Not that he sees it happening anytime soon. So deep down is immediately where that idea is going back to.  
  
“Maybe I already _have_ found someone,” Dean replies instead, winking playfully, and Eliot laughs. He knows Eliot isn’t the kind of man that needs to be flirted with, but Dean likes doing it. Eliot’s good to him.  
  
As Eliot puts on his too-serious overcoat to leave though, Dean can’t help but think of Cas again. It’s been weeks since Dean’s seen him, and he’s worried about how the guy’s doing.  
  
At least, that’s what Dean tells himself the next day, when he finds himself pulling into the carpark of the local library.  
  
He doesn’t plan it. It’s a nice day outside, and he wakes up feeling a little restless, so he decides to go for a drive. He doesn’t plan to end up there.  
  
But end up there, he does.  
  
So Dean figures, since he’s there and all, he might as well pop in for a second, check things out. Maybe he can take a look at that new Carver Edlund novel everyone’s been talking about. And if he happens to catch a glimpse of Castiel, see with his own eyes how the guy’s doing, that’ll be enough. It’s not like they have to actually talk or anything.  
  
It’s a good plan, Dean tells himself, again, as he heads to the door. But he doesn’t expect to crash into Castiel the very second he steps through it, sending the stack of files and books in Cas’ arms skittering to the floor.  
  
“Dean!” Castiel blurts in surprise when he looks up.  
  
“Shit, sorry, Cas!” Dean flusters, bending down to collect some of the mess.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Cas asks incredulously, reaching distractedly for some of the files as he stares openly at Dean.  
  
“Looking for… a book?” Dean shrugs, grinning lamely as he hands over some of Castiel’s papers.  
  
Castiel huffs a little laugh at that, and Dean relaxes a bit, finding himself relieved at the reaction. There was a chance he might not have been welcome at Castiel’s workplace, but mostly Dean’s relieved Cas laughed at all. The guy can’t be doing too badly then.  
  
“Are you leaving?” Dean asks once they’ve managed to pick everything up off the floor.  
  
“Yes, I was going to head home early and do some work from there. It’s quiet today and Chuck can handle everything here,” Cas explains.  
  
“Well, can I give you a lift?” Dean offers. “Or did you drive?”  
  
“No, I was going to take the bus,” Cas frowns. “But I thought you wanted a book?”  
  
“It’s okay, Cas. I’m in more of a driving mood today anyway. And I’m not going to let you lug around all this stuff on the bus,” Dean replies.  
  
“Oh, well, thank you,” Cas says, flushing slightly.  
  
“No problem, Cas,” Dean grins. “After you,” he says, holding the door open for the other man. Cas flushes again as he walks past Dean, their bodies brushing slightly against each other with the movement, and Dean finds himself involuntarily leaning into Cas at the proximity, chasing more contact.  
  
Dean shakes it off. It’s not the time or the place. It’s inappropriate enough that Dean’s showed up at Castiel’s workplace, but he’s not going to… _solicit_ the man as well. Dean resolves to keep his hands to himself.  
  
Once Cas settles in the frontseat of the Impala he points Dean in the general direction of his apartment, but after that, the car quickly fills with silence. Dean side-eyes the fuck out of the man, wondering if he should turn on the radio or something, but there’s a fragility about the guy right now that tells Dean loud noises and sudden movements probably aren’t a good idea. Hell, add bright lights to the list, judging from how pale he looks.  
  
“So…” Dean ventures cautiously, “how are you doing, man?”  
  
Castiel heaves a sigh. “Alright, I suppose.”  
  
“Hmm,” Dean hums in reply. “Yeah, I get it,” he says. And he does. He recognizes the exhaustion around Castiel’s eyes, the tired slump of his shoulders, even though he’s a little stiff with awkwardness from the current situation. But as much as Dean wants to help, he doesn’t really know where to go from there. Doesn’t really know how to provide comfort outside of the bedroom. Talking about feelings and stuff has never really been one of his strong points. He’s much better at drowning his miseries in a deep bottle or a willing body.  
  
Cas huffs another little sigh, glancing at Dean sheepishly and acknowledging the awkwardness. “I appreciate this, Dean, thank you,” he says, half apologizing.  
  
“It’s really no problem, Cas,” Dean reassures him, “Like I said, it’s a nice day for driving.”  
  
“…It is,” Cas replies, looking out the window and sounding like it’s the first time he’s bothered to notice. Dean lets him appreciate the scenery for a moment, the silence between them becoming a little more comfortable as Cas soaks it in, relaxing a little. Eventually Cas’ attention is drawn back to his more immediate surroundings, as if seeing them for the first time as well.  
  
“What kind of car is this?” he asks, running his hand over his side of the dashboard. There’s respect in the way he does it, as well as appreciation, and Dean grins with pride.  
  
“1967 Chevy Impala,” he answers. “Ain’t she beautiful?”  
  
“Yes,” Cas replies. “I can tell it means a lot to you, it’s very well kept.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I spent a lot of time in this car when I was growing up. After our house burned down this car was more like a home to us than a lot of the places we rolled through while my dad was looking for work,” Dean explains. He leaves out how to this day, the Impala still feels more like home than the apartment he rents now – too big and rarely used unless Sam is visiting. “Besides,” Dean says instead, “my dad… he’d probably roll over in his grave if I didn’t take care of her right.”  
  
Dean doesn’t really talk about this stuff, ever, but maybe this way he can at least let Cas know he understands what the other man is going through.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Cas says quietly. “How did he die?”  
  
“Heart-attack. Couple years ago,” Dean answers.  
  
“And your mother?”  
  
“She, um…” Dean swallows tightly. Some things just don’t get easier no matter how long it’s been. “She died in the housefire when we were kids.”  
  
“Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry,” Castiel murmurs gently.  
  
“S’okay, it was a long time ago,” he replies automatically, shrugging it off the way he usually does whenever the topic comes up.  
  
Cas doesn’t say anything after that, and Dean doesn’t push either. Cas may not be in a great place right now, but at least Cas doesn’t look like he’s making a mess of himself the way Dean did when his dad died – staying out all night drinking and partying and waking up in other people’s beds. At least Cas can actually make it to his day job.  
  
Dean glances over the other side of the frontseat where Cas is resolutely staring down at his hands, and sighs. “You’re gonna be okay, Cas,” he says.  
  
He can feel Cas’ gaze on him them, heavy and familiar, and even though they don’t say anything else for the rest of the drive, Cas doesn’t look back out the window.  
  
When they arrive at Cas’ apartment building, Dean offers to carry some of Cas’ stuff upstairs. He doesn’t know how Cas expected to carry it all up to the top floor by himself, with the elevator apparently not working. Dean wonders if the building’s even safe enough to live in. It looks like it hasn’t even had a fresh coat of paint in years, let alone any major repairs.  
  
The apartment itself turns out to be tiny, made even smaller with all the boxes and books covering nearly every surface, and there’s a thin layer of dust on everything. Everything that’s not a book, that is. Cas offers him coffee in return for his help, and Dean figures it’s only polite to accept.  
  
“Sorry about the boxes,” Cas says. “I haven’t gotten around to unpacking yet.”  
  
“When did you move in?” Dean asks. And doesn’t say: _why the hell would you move here?_  
  
“Um… about a year ago?” Cas answers, like he isn’t really sure.  
  
“A _year_ ago?” Dean echoes, incredulous.  
  
Castiel sighs. “I needed a cheaper place, because of Anna’s medical bills. And with her in the hospital all the time, I was hardly ever here,” Cas explains. “I guess I just got used to it being this way… I haven’t really felt like unpacking.”  
  
Dean nods, hiding his frown behind his mug. He’s suddenly acutely aware that with everything Cas has been going through, financially and emotionally, that _Dean_ has been his only vice. And an expensive one at that.  
  
The thought makes him feel a little ill. At the very least he’s sure he’s grossly overstepped his bounds by being there, a blatant reminder of Cas’ difficulties, in the face of the man’s grief as well.  
  
“Dean--”  
  
“--I should go,” Dean says abruptly, talking over him. “Thanks for the coffee.”  
  
“…Of course,” Castiel sighs, and Dean hears the weariness in Cas’ voice too well.  
  
He tries not to make it seem like he’s fleeing the scene, but that’s exactly what it feels like.  
  
~  
  
It’s almost easy to forget that the men and women Dean takes to bed have lives outside of his hotel room. That they exist and keep breathing during the daylight hours Dean sleeps away. Almost easy to pretend that they’re there for _Dean’s_ pleasure, and not the other way around. But now that he’s seen where Cas works, where Cas lives… those few day-bright moments are burned into Dean’s memory, more vivid than so many collective nights in that dimly-lit hotel.  
  
Cas comes back to see him, not even a full week afterwards. And Dean’s not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, for either of them. But as soon as Castiel’s lips find his, he decides it doesn’t matter. It’s been far too long since he’s had his hands on Castiel’s skin, too long since he even held Castiel, that night after his sister’s funeral. And when they finally fall into bed together, Dean sighs into Cas’ mouth with relief.  
  
They are both frantic and unhurried, at the same time. Needy, and yet needing it to last, for as long as they can. But there’s something in the way Castiel clings to him, touching him as if memorizing every moment, and searing each moment into Dean’s memory with every touch… It feels like Castiel is saying goodbye.  
  
Dean knows it. Just as he knows now that something has irreversibly changed between them. He’s not sure when, or why, or _what._ But there’s a heavy finality in the weight of Castiel’s touch, pressing into Dean until he’s sure he’ll be crushed by it. And all of a sudden he finds himself remembering what he told Cas, the first night they spent together, repeating in his head like a mantra, “it’s just sex, it’s just sex, it’s just sex,” over and over again – trying to convince himself nothing’s changed at all.  
  
They lay in silence afterwards, long after they’ve caught their breath and wiped themselves off, just staring at the ceiling through the thick unspoken _something_ in the air. When Castiel finally slides out of bed, making a move to leave, Dean stubbornly grabs onto his wrist and asks, “When will I see you again?”  
  
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel sighs, tired and resigned. “I just-- I can’t afford to rely on you anymore.”  
  
And there’s more than one meaning there, that Dean thinks he understands. But he tries not to think about it too hard.  
  
It’s just sex. It’s not the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, go check out the [fanart](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/tagged/any-old-music-art) for this fic by catcitycat at tumblr (NSFW warning!) And please let her know how awesome she is <3


	4. You'll see

  
_“Dean.”_  
  
“What’s up, Sam? Everything alright?”  
  
 _“Mm-hmm… Did you work last night?”_  
  
“Yep.”  
  
 _“…Another late one?”_  
  
“Yeah, but it was more pleasure than business if you know what I mean. You know how the ladies love me!”  
  
 _“Hmm. Yeah.”_  
  
“How ‘bout you? Get up to anything interesting last night? For once?”  
  
 _“…Well, funny thing, Dean. I was stuck at a bus station last night, with someone who turns out to know you.”_  
  
“Oh yeah? Who?”  
  
 _“Meg.”_  
  
“…Meg.”  
  
 _“Yeah, you remember Meg, Dean? One of your old “clients?””_  
  
“...fuck.”  
  
 _“What the hell, Dean! You’re a stripper? And an escort? How long has this been going on?”_  
  
“Uh… Since after dad died?”  
  
 _“Oh my god, Dean!”_  
  
“Look, Sam, it had to be done. We had bills to pay, and bartending wasn’t cutting it.”  
  
 _“Jesus, Dean, there were a million other things you could’ve done!”_  
  
“No, not really. Not for the same kind of money.”  
  
 _“I could’ve helped! I could’ve gotten a job too!”_  
  
“You were just a kid, Sam! You didn’t need to worry about that kind of stuff.”  
  
 _“You could’ve at least told me!”_  
  
“Why, so you could freak out on me like you are right now? You’re making it out to be some kind of terrible thing and it’s not. Maybe I like it, did that ever occur to you?”  
  
 _“Do you? Really? Or is it just easier to tell yourself that?”_  
  
“…”  
  
“ _Dean..._ ”  
  
“Sam, no, it’s fine, really. I’m good at what I do. I’m being safe and most of the time it doesn’t feel like work at all.”  
  
 _“That’s not the point, Dean. I know you feel like it’s your job to take care of me, but… I can’t just be okay with the fact that I’ve been living off money that you made selling your body for sex! I mean, how the hell am I supposed to look you in the eye and be okay with that? I can barely look myself in the eye!”_  
  
“Sam…”  
  
 _“No, I can’t right now, Dean. I just can’t.”_  
  
~  
  
Fuck.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
Fucking _bitch_.  
  
Meg. The psychopath. Dean wasn’t sorry to hear she’d left town.  
  
She also happened to be Dean’s first private dance, in that first hotel room, years ago. Dean doesn’t miss the irony in that – that it would ultimately be her to bite him in the ass.  
  
And ultimately, the reason Dean is the one to cave in next.  
  
It’s been months since he last saw Castiel. Months since Castiel finally decided to cut himself off from Dean, and months since Dean’s let himself even think about it – that last frantic night together, and how different it was to any night they’d had before. Maybe it had just been pent-up desire, built up over the weeks apart since the night of Anna’s funeral. Or maybe it had been because of everything Castiel was going through at the time, emotions still raw with grief, but… Castiel was usually so straightforward in his eagerness for Dean, so unabashed in his enthusiasm – not that he had been any less passionate or direct – but that night there had been layers upon layers in every touch, leaving Dean scrabbling to understand the meaning underneath.  
  
He still doesn’t fully understand. But he does understand that it’s… too much. And he suspects that’s why Cas had to cut himself off.  
  
Fine. Dean knew he would eventually. So Dean let it go, and doesn’t think about it.  
  
Until he’s too busy trying not to think about other things.  
  
It happens a lot like the first time. He doesn’t plan it, and he’s not really aware of what he’s doing when it happens. All he knows is that he’s had a week from Hell, and the bruises to show for it, and when he goes for a drive to take his mind off things, he ends up at the library again. Not the club, where he can drink for free. Not any number of bars or pool halls on the way there. But the goddamn library.  
  
“Castiel,” he barks at the twitchy guy behind the desk, cutting in front of the waiting people lined up there. The guy points a shaky finger at the stacks. Dean makes for the bookshelves without another word, glaring down every empty aisle until he finds Castiel in the last one all the way in the back, just standing there, reshelving books, entirely oblivious to the rest of the world. Something livid and desperate rears up inside him at the sight, and he lunges forward the last few steps to grab Castiel’s arm, twisting him around.  
  
“Dean, wha--?” Castiel gasps, eyes immediately falling to the bruise on Dean’s cheek. But Dean doesn’t even give Cas the chance to voice his concern, pushing Cas back against the bookshelf and crushing their lips together. Castiel moans and sags into him, immediately responding to the onslaught, even after so long.  
  
Dean is hard in seconds, and he grabs Castiel’s thighs, hooking them around his waist and hiking Cas up against the shelf. He starts thrusting against Castiel, forcefully, until he feels Cas hard against him as well. He can hear Castiel whimpering in his ear, but even then Dean doesn’t ease back, driving harder, as if he can get even closer by breaking Castiel apart and sinking into what’s inside.  
  
“Yes!” Dean hears himself gasping incoherently against Castiel’s lips, “Need,” and “You,” as Castiel tries to smother their moans with his mouth, swallowing them down. But Dean doesn’t want to be quiet. Dean wants to scream. The way Castiel feels pressed up against him, the way Castiel claws at his back, trying to pull him even closer… Dean didn’t know what he was coming here for, didn’t plan for this, but there’s an inevitability in it, that washes through him when he comes, burying a choked-off sob in Castiel’s neck.  
  
That’s where he comes-to again, face pressed into Castiel’s skin as the other man strokes soothing fingers through his hair, hushing him softly. It takes another long moment before Dean begins to release his iron grip, letting Castiel slide his legs free from his waist to stand on his own. And that’s when Dean finally looks up, and around, remembering where they are, and realizing, with horror, what he’s just done.  
  
“Shit, Cas! I’m sorry! I didn’t… I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he hisses, backing away. “ _Fuck,_ that was totally out of line,” he curses, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as if it will all disappear along with the harsh glare of the library’s fluorescent lighting.  
  
“Dean, wait. Talk to me,” Cas pleads, coming closer, but Dean swiftly steps out of reach, backing away even faster.  
  
“I’m really fucking sorry, Cas,” he says once more, before fleeing the scene, again.  
  
~  
  
It’s a small blessing that it happens to be gentlemen’s night that night, because after leaving the library, Dean doesn’t think he can plaster on the charm for the ladies. Male audiences are usually more subdued. They don’t usually show up in large groups, and don’t require as much interaction, mostly just there to enjoy the view. So Dean gets up to do a relatively basic number –  no costumes, no gimmicks, something he could do in his sleep – and gets a decent amount of tips anyway.  
  
But just when Dean’s about to walk offstage, he notices Victor in the audience.  
  
Not for the first time, he wonders why so many cops spend their time in places like this, with people like Dean. It must suck to be so consumed by your job that you don’t have time to form any real relationships, or to be so jaded by the things you’ve seen that you just aren’t capable of letting anyone in or hanging on to something good. It must be really fucking lonely.  
  
Victor is probably the only cop who comes in regularly that hasn’t slept with Dean yet. Which is a damn shame, because Dean suspects the guy would be a kinky son of a bitch in bed. But the man has way too much integrity to pay for it. Dean’s feeling a little vindictive about it that night though. So after his number he makes his way through the audience, sits himself down on Victor’s lap, and grinds up against the man until Victor comes in his pants.  
  
Dean feels marginally better afterwards.  
  
Even though he knows he could get into trouble for what he just did. The licensing laws for the club are a bit tricky when it comes to what’s considered “entertainment” …but as far as Dean’s concerned, it’s not his fault if someone in the audience gets over-excited. And no matter how big a tip he gets for it, it’s just a tip, _not_ payment for services rendered.  
  
So the guy came in his pants, big deal. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Not a _single damn thing_. Hell, Dean was barely even hard.  
  
Regardless, he’s not really surprised when he gets called to Crowley’s office afterwards. He takes a minute to pack his tips away in his locker, then throws an old t-shirt and some ripped jeans on over his g-string, and gears up to get yelled at.  
  
Only, when Dean steps inside Crowley’s office, the man doesn’t look angry at all. Just the opposite, in fact. There’s a sickening leer on the man’s face, and an unusual thickness lingering in the air, telling him that Crowley knows something Dean doesn’t.  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
“Cas!” Dean whips around at the familiar voice, and there’s Castiel, just standing by the door behind Dean, looking more rumpled than usual and a little worse for wear. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“…You needed me,” Castiel replies quietly. Dean blinks stupidly at him, stunned into speechlessness.  
  
“How touching,” Crowley interrupts, his leer widening as he extends a hotel key towards Dean. “Your usual room is waiting,” he says, the numbers 620 glinting off the key’s fob-tag in fake plastic gold.  
  
Dean grabs it. He can’t get out of there fast enough. He yanks Castiel along quickly by the hand, unwilling to let go out of sheer disbelief that the man’s there. And yet, Dean can barely look Castiel in the eye, afraid that the surging, swelling thing in his chest will spill over if he looks too long.  
  
He leads Castiel straight to the shower, helping Cas take off his many layers when the man’s too slow, and pulling Cas under the spray with him. And then he holds on, burying his face into Cas’ neck and letting the hot water beat down comfortingly across his shoulders, sluicing the body-oil and sweat and grime from the club to the drain. Slowly, eventually, he feels the tension bleed from his body, his limbs beginning to relax and his breath coming easier.  
  
“Dean,” Cas murmurs eventually, gently prying him loose. As Dean slowly looks up to meet Castiel’s eyes, the shower spray hits his face, and by the look on Castiel’s face Dean knows the water is washing away his stage makeup as well, revealing the bruise on his cheek. “What happened?” Castiel croaks, reaching up to touch the darkened swell.  
  
“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Dean replies, pulling Castiel’s hand away from the tender flesh. Doesn’t even sting anymore. Just the occasional hazard of the job. And he’d learned to expect it from Michael a long time ago. Michael is good-looking enough that he shouldn’t need to pay for sex, but he’s also the worst combination of religious and closeted, and as a result he’s always a little rough with Dean in bed. But this time, Dean just didn’t feel like saying yes anymore.  
  
“It doesn’t seem like nothing, Dean,” Castiel says, his eyes searching. “You don’t owe me an explanation, but I just want to help,” he adds softly, and Dean crumbles a little at that.  
  
“Sam… My little brother… He found out about what I do. The dancing, stripping… everything,” Dean explains haltingly.  
  
“He was angry?” Castiel asks.  
  
“Furious,” Dean chokes out. “And the thing is, I started doing it all to take care of him. He’s so smart, Cas, he’s going to Stanford, he’s got a great girl he wants to marry… I just want him to have the best life he can have.”  
  
“I understand, Dean. He’s your brother and you want to take care of him,” Castiel murmurs, sighing. “But is this the life that _you_ want?”  
  
Dean shrugs silently, dropping his head against Castiel’s shoulder. He just doesn’t know anymore. And as Cas pulls him close again Dean flashes back to a night months ago, when he’d quietly asked Castiel, ‘Who takes care of _you_?’  
  
“You deserve good things too,” Cas whispers, and Dean holds on even tighter.  
  
They’re both pruny by the time Dean lets Castiel pull him out of the shower, and the water’s begun to run cold, but Dean barely notices, wrapped up in the warmth of Castiel’s body. They stand in the bathroom for so long, just kissing each other, that they’re both nearly dry by the time they start moving towards the bed.  
  
Castiel lays Dean down, stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair as they kiss, slow and comforting, and Dean gives up on time altogether, losing all sense of it against Castiel’s lips. He doesn’t even realize he’s trembling until Castiel lifts his shaking hands to his lips, pressing gentle kisses against them as well.  
  
“What can I do, Dean?” Castiel whispers, searching his face. “What do you need?”  
  
“I…” Dean’s voice cracks thickly on the words, and he has to take a shaky breath to start again. “I want you inside me.”  
  
Even in the low light, Dean can see the flare of heat in Castiel’s eyes at that, can feel the hitch in Castiel’s breath against his fingers. Cas presses another kiss against them, nodding, not a trace of hesitance in his face though Dean knows Cas has never done what Dean’s asking of him.  
  
Dean’s throat cracks again when he opens his mouth to speak, but as soon as the sound escapes, Dean realizes he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say, the words are so utterly stuck in his throat. And in the end the whole endeavour probably comes out sounding like an embarrassing little sob.  
  
No, it _must_ sound like that, by the way Castiel kisses him again, stroking his hair and hushing him with soft murmurs. And once again Dean loses himself, giving himself up to Castiel’s mercy.  
  
It’s slow and unhurried, though there is no less urgency. Dean can feel it in the way they shake against each other, the way their breaths hitch and gasp in each other’s mouths. Castiel finds all of Dean’s bruises and hurts, and kisses them as if he’s blessing them, or worshipping them, and it makes Dean want to wear them forever instead of covering them up and hiding them. It’s like Cas is taking away all the filth he’s inflicted on himself, and is rebuilding him, making him clean again. And when Cas finally begins to open him up, he does it even more carefully than Dean did it for him the first time, treating Dean like the fragile thing he isn’t.  
  
“Am I hurting you?” Cas even goes so far to ask. And Dean opens his mouth to remind Castiel that he’s done this many times before, harder, or rougher, or with more inside him even. But what comes out is,  
  
“You could never hurt me.”  
  
And as soon as he says it, he knows he means it.  
  
Castiel huffs out a kind of surprised sound then, like all the air has been punched out of him at the words, and he just stares at Dean, wide-eyed and vulnerable, like he’s been caught-out somehow, doing something he knows he’s not supposed to.  
  
“Dean…” Castiel whispers, a reverent sound that seems like it’s been drawn from Castiel’s throat against his will. So many different emotions wash across Castiel’s face, Dean can’t place them all, doesn’t think he could if he tried, and he begins to squirm under the scrutiny, desperate.  
  
“It’s okay, Cas. Please don’t stop. _Please_ ,” Dean moans, reaching up to press his hands against Castiel’s face with urgency.  
  
The touch seems to snap Castiel out of it, and he collapses against Dean, burying his face in Dean’s neck and clinging.  
  
“Cas, please,” Dean whispers again.  
  
Castiel loosens his grip, taking another deep breath to sigh heavily against Dean’s skin, but he still doesn’t move any further. Dean doesn’t know if Castiel’s suddenly decided he can’t go through with it, or if it’s something else, but he’s afraid to ask. Afraid to bring it up in case it gives Castiel an out. Dean needs this.  
  
So instead, Dean reaches down, slow and careful, trying not to scare Castiel any more than he already has, and guides Castiel’s length inside him. Castiel’s breath hitches harshly once the head breaches Dean’s entrance, but from there it’s an easy and inevitable slide in, all the way, until Dean is filled to the hilt.  
  
Dean tries not to make a sound, biting down on his groan for fear of spooking Castiel. But once Castiel’s buried inside, he clutches Dean even more tightly, breathing hard, and Dean knows Cas won’t let go. Whatever sudden reluctance Castiel was overcome with is forgotten as the needs of their bodies take over, overwhelming them.  
  
Dean begins to move, working Castiel’s length inside him. He reaches down to grab onto Castiel’s hips, guiding the man into a matching rhythm, and the touch seems to snap Castiel out of it again. Cas finally lifts his head from Dean’s neck, meeting Dean’s gaze with eyes still full of too many things to read, conflicting and spilling over each other as he thrusts into Dean, the way Dean’s wanted since the first moment he laid eyes on the man.  
  
“Anything,” Castiel whispers. “I would do anything…” he says, but the words choke off in a way that tells Dean he’s trying not to say more. Trying not to say ‘for you.’  
  
But Dean hears it anyway.  
  
~  
  
 _“Hi, This is Sam--_  
  
“…Sammy?”  
  
 _“--Winchester’s phone, please leave a message so I can get back to you.”_  
  
“…”  
  
~  
  
It doesn’t take long for Castiel to come see him again. But in the short time between, Dean feels like something’s crawled under his skin and taken root, itching away until he doesn’t even feel like his body belongs to him anymore. He feels jittery and displaced, and maybe a little angry about it, so when he finally lays eyes on Castiel again, all he knows is that he wants to _scratch_.  
  
He needs Castiel inside him again so badly. The few steps from the door to the bed are a blur, hands grabbing and stripping clothes until there’s nothing left but skin, and then Dean’s pushing Castiel back onto the bed and climbing on top of him, barely able to stop attacking Cas’ mouth long enough to breathe. Not until Dean is sinking down onto Cas’ glorious cock – maybe a little too fast, but so entirely necessary – then he can’t help but throw his head back and gasp for air, like a drowning man finally breaching the surface.  
  
And when Dean’s lungs finally start working again, so does his mouth. “Yeah, that’s it. You like that?” he hisses, though he doesn’t even wait for an answer. “I love it. Love the way that cock feels in my ass. Been wanting it so bad. Just lay back and let me ride it, baby, yeah, so good…”  
  
It’s fast and dirty and hard, but all Dean gets from Castiel is a little frown, eyes searching him with something like… _sadness_ in them. And even though Dean rides Castiel within an each of his life, it’s nowhere near as good as it was last time, and Dean feels strangely unsatisfied afterwards.  
  
He doesn’t know why. But the way Castiel gingerly extricates himself from the bed afterwards, silently picking up his clothes and woodenly going through the motions of getting dressed, makes Dean feels like a selfish bastard. Like their roles have reversed somehow and Dean has just used Castiel in the worst way.  
  
It takes longer for Castiel to come back the next time. Long enough that when he finally returns, Dean feels a little light-headed, like he’s finally releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding the entire time. And it isn’t until then that he realizes how worried he was that Castiel wouldn’t come back at all. Too worried. Which is probably why he’d been suppressing the thought altogether, until he laid eyes on the man again.  
  
Dean knows he fucked up. Even though he doesn’t know _how_ he did. So the only way he can think of to make up for it is to leave the ball in Castiel’s court, let Castiel have whatever he wants, however he wants it. It’s a tried and true technique that’s worked well for Dean in the past.  
  
“Tell me what you want, Cas,” he murmurs shakily, once they’re standing by the side of the bed. His forehead is pressed to Castiel’s, too afraid to look directly into Castiel’s eyes in case the disappointment from last time still lingers there, and his hands tremble where they rest cautiously on Castiel’s shoulders. “Do you want me inside you? Or do you want to be inside me again? Do you want is fast and hard? Or slow and soft? I’ll do anything you want.”  
  
“Dean,” Castiel rumbles, taking Dean’s shaking hands from his shoulders. “Stop talking,” he says, bringing Dean’s hands to his lips and pinning Dean with his gaze. “I know what I want,” he murmurs, before finally letting his eyes flutter shut, pressing a kiss to Dean’s knuckles.  
  
“Okay…” Dean exhales shakily, before silencing himself like Castiel wants. Dean doesn’t think he could speak anyway, with the way Castiel is handling him, so gently and nearly… _reverent_ with every press of his lips _._ Dean knows he doesn’t deserve it, but if it’s what Castiel wants, then Dean is going to let him have it. And when Castiel strips off their clothes and pushes Dean back onto the bed, he does it so carefully and deliberately, Dean thinks he could actually start to believe that he’s some kind of precious thing, to be cherished and loved.  
  
… Loved.  
  
It isn’t until Castiel pushes inside him that Dean finally realizes. Castiel is _making love_ to him.  
  
Suddenly it’s so clear. It’s right there, in Castiel’s eyes. And now that Dean can see it, it’s _all_ he can see. It’s so overwhelming, Dean finally has to look away, scrunch his eyes shut and pull Castiel closer, so he can hide his face in Castiel’s skin.  
  
But then it’s as if all of Dean’s other senses are heightened, and he can _feel_ it in the way Castiel holds him, in Castiel’s heartbeat, so sure and steady against him, calm and strong against his own erratic and racing pulse.  
  
When Dean told Castiel he could have anything, he didn’t expect _this._ He can’t understand it. At all. But he grits his teeth and bears it, even though it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.  
  
“Dammit, Cas,” Dean curses when he finally finds his voice again, lying shaking on the sheets afterwards.  
  
“If this is something you would rather not do, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone,” Cas murmurs, and Dean knows Cas is just trying to give him an out, but he’s still shaky and confused and hears it more like an ultimatum, and the last thing he wants is for Castiel to leave him.  
  
“No. Don’t,” Dean replies, finding Castiel’s hand and twining their fingers together. Castiel nods, bringing Dean’s hand to his lips again, softly kissing his knuckles.  
  
~  
  
Cas comes back nearly every night after that. So much so, that they even develop something like a routine. Cas doesn’t like to sit at the bar while he waits for Dean to cleanup after his number – uncomfortable in the loud atmosphere of the club, and not much of a drinker anyway – so he usually goes ahead to their room, and takes a shower while he waits. Most of Dean’s clients like to shower _afterwards_ , wanting to be clean of whatever debauchery or filth they’ve engaged in before going back to their regular lives. But it’s the reverse with Cas. Like it’s _Dean_ who he wants to be clean for. And once Dean works that out, he stops showering in the dressing-room first, so he can get upstairs all that faster, and climb into the shower with Castiel instead.  
  
It becomes almost like a ritual, helping each other wash away the worries of their lives, until it’s just _him_ and _Cas_ , together between the sheets.  
  
Sometimes they talk first. Sometimes they talk afterwards. Sometimes they don’t talk at all, just laying together in comfortable silence, _being_. But at some point in the night, Castiel always, _always_ , finds his way inside Dean.  
  
Castiel comes to see him so much, Dean barely even has time to see his other clients anymore. And it surprises Dean how little he minds. He usually loathes the idea of anything ‘routine’. But this feels anything but.  
  
At first he thinks it’s because Castiel always tops him now, the way he prefers. So of course Dean might not need to see anyone else if he’s always getting what he wants. But that doesn’t explain the nearly tangible sense of relief Dean feels whenever he steps into their usual hotel room, greeted by the familiar sound of Castiel waiting for him in the shower. Doesn’t explain how Dean starts sleeping better in sheets that smell like Cas, instead of his own clean bed at his barely used apartment.  
  
And it doesn’t make sense, when his nights with Castiel sometimes feel like the most challenging and confronting nights of his life. Too often Dean tries to revert to his old ways, pushing for harder, rougher, dirtier… but Cas is so patient with him, sometimes even letting Dean have his way. But eventually Dean begins to give in more often than not, letting Cas have his slower, softer, sweeter… even though it’s so much more difficult.  
  
It used to be _easy_ , giving his clients what they wanted. Maybe sometimes, it was even predictable as well. But letting Cas make love to him, over and over again... Every time, it knocks his feet out from right under him, leaves him breathless and reeling and so lost, he doesn’t know who he is anymore.  
  
Or just the opposite. He’s not sure. He starts to question everything. Starts thinking about some of the things Sam said to him. And he realizes that maybe he doesn’t really like his lifestyle after all.  
  
He doesn’t know who he is without it though. It’s easier to be what everyone else wants. What everyone else needs. And he’s just so good at adapting and avoiding and denying, that maybe he lost himself along the way.  
  
But Cas is the only one that makes _Dean_ feel needed. _Dean._ Not someone else’s fantasy version of him. Not some role he thinks he needs to take on for someone else’s benefit. Just _him._ When Castiel looks at him, he really _sees_ him _._ And it scares the hell out of him, but it’s everything Dean never knew he needed.  
  
He starts thinking, maybe this is _all_ he needs. Maybe this isn’t just another role _._ Maybe this is really _him,_ wanting _this,_ with _Castiel._ Maybe he can give up the whole escort thing and be with Cas for real. Because it _feels_ real. Maybe he can move Castiel and all of his musty old furniture into Dean’s spacious, too-empty apartment. Hell, maybe they can even get a house. And a yard. Big enough for barbeques and blow-up pools and swingsets… or something…  
  
And that’s when Dean _finally_ realizes he’s in trouble.  
  
But no matter how many layers and pretentions Castiel has stripped away, Dean still has his denial. So he denies and denies, conveniently ignores the little sparks of hope in his chest whenever he’s with Castiel, and reminds himself that there are no happily-ever-afters for Dean Winchester. Everyone leaves. Whether it’s the morning after, or a too-short short lifetime after, the end is the same.  
  
Dean doesn’t need anyone, anyway. Doesn’t need to be needed. Doesn’t need Castiel to love him, because he doesn’t love Castiel. It’s just sex.  
  
That’s what he tells himself. That’s what he’s going to stick with. Denial is a well-worn armor that’s never failed to protect him in the past, sometimes the only shield he’s had against the kind of loss he’s had in his life, and the fallout left in its wake.  
  
So maybe that’s why, when he walks into Crowley’s office one night, and sees Castiel bent over the desk, a high flush on his cheeks as Crowley pounds into him from behind, Dean feels nothing at all. It’s like his brain shuts down altogether as he stands frozen in the doorway, taking in what’s happening right in front of his eyes.  
  
“Well are you just going to stand there?” Crowley snarls, not even bothering to stop. “Either join in, or get out!”  
  
Dean gets the hell out.  
  
He fucking runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter for this fic will be posted on May 29th for the WIPBB. In the meantime, check out these great [fanart drawings](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/tagged/any-old-music-art) for this fic by catcitycat at tumblr (NSFW warning!) And please let her know how awesome she is for me <3


	5. I'll show you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some retconned info for those of you who have been reading along with the updates - I named Crowley's hotel The White Plains, so they could nickname it the White Stains... which also happens to be the title of Aleister Crowley's published collection of erotic poems lol ;p
> 
> And I'm sorry I didn't reply to all the comments to the last chapter, but I couldn't without giving away spoilers :s

  
Dean doesn’t know how far, or for how long he runs, but when his brain starts functioning again, he finds himself hunched over and gasping for breath in the middle of the street, halfway to nowhere. The glare of lights burning bright around him tell Dean he’s still in the red-light district, though he doesn’t recognize which part. Maybe it just goes on forever, or he’s been running around in circles, trapped in a maze or one of the many rings of hell, but he doesn’t really care anymore. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself either, so he just keeps walking.  
  
At least he’s got clothes on. Then again, it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Clothed or not, there’s no way Dean’s going back to the club right now. Not even to get his car. He doesn’t even want to _think_ about the club right now. And he sure as hell isn’t going to think about Crowley’s office, and what happened there, or wonder whether he imagined the look of horror on Cas’ face, just before he ran out.  
  
Did Crowley turn Castiel out slow? Watch Cas jerk off while he took care of his own business, before suggesting mutual handjobs? Then blow jobs? Then…  
  
Probably. Just like Crowley probably did with Dean, getting his clients to make certain suggestions, see how far he would go.  
  
Did Cas enjoy it like Dean did?  
  
Of course he did. Dean taught him how.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
Where _the hell_ did Dean’s ability to shut down _go_ all of a sudden, now that he really needs it? The ability to avoid thinking about anything at all, and deny the knowledge of every goddamn thing that happened?  
  
_Clearly_ it was working fine before, when Dean was ignoring how Castiel never bottomed for him anymore (because Dean would’ve noticed someone had already been inside him). Or how, lately, Castiel always wanted to shower before letting Dean touch him (because Dean would’ve smelled Crowley all over him). Or more importantly, how Crowley never complained about Castiel monopolizing Dean’s nights (because Crowley was too busy monopolizing Castiel).  
  
And clearly, it was working _great_ , when Dean thought that telling himself he wasn’t in love with Castiel would actually protect him from getting hurt when it ended.  
  
He should’ve known better than to layer denial upon denial – like a house of cards that would collapse upon itself at the barest breath. Should’ve known better than to pretend his usual pretences would work. Not this time. Not with Cas. Because no matter how many times he told himself that he didn’t feel anything, Dean _knew_ it was going to hurt anyway.  
  
Because he _did_ feel something. Something _real_. And there’s no denying it now, because he wouldn’t feel so betrayed otherwise.  
  
Not that he has any right to be. He never made any kind of claim on Castiel. And maybe he’d hoped that Castiel had wanted to make some kind of claim on _him,_ but that obviously wasn’t the case.  
  
Eventually the harsh lights of the red-light district begin to fade, and Dean reaches streets that are no longer awash with their relentless blinking, on and off, designed to catch the attention of any passersby, but only a nuisance to his stinging eyes. As he reaches the edge of the district, a few last stragglers gleam announcements for the occasional liquor shop or convenience store, but they slowly peter out, until he’s completely engulfed by the bleak emptiness of the adjacent industrial district.  
  
He keeps walking. There’s barely anyone in this part of the town at night, and Dean finds the dull greyness of it comforting. Pure. Without any pretence. He almost wishes he could stay there forever, wandering the purgatory of these streets… but they don’t last either. Nothing does. Inevitably, hints of greenery begin to peek out of the ground – dry, trampled, uncared for – but there nonetheless. And soon after, houses begin to appear. Nothing more than ramshackle wrecks and abandoned remains at first, but eventually more solid structures. Nothing pretty, but stable enough to live in at least. And familiar.  
  
Dean finally regains his bearings. He’s been here before. Usually in his car, but he definitely recognises the area. Maybe he’d been heading this way all along. The thought of his too-large, empty apartment doesn’t really seem all too welcoming at the moment. He doesn’t even have his wallet on him, so hopping a bus to California and hoping his brother will forgive him long enough to give him any kind of sympathy isn’t an option either. Benny is probably the next best thing. Dean works out which direction he needs to go, and picks up his pace, spurred on by his destination.  
  
Benny is a great big bear of a man with a real thing for twinks. He used to work as a bouncer at the Inferno, and Dean is close enough to Benny’s type that the man was always happy to help out when Dean needed someone for a threesome, or had a client with a voyeur kink. They worked well together. Benny took care of him in bed, completely soft at heart despite his gruff exterior, and always accepting, rolling with the punches judgement-free. Dean had come to trust the man enough to know that Benny will _still_ take care of him, if he needs it.  
  
It’s a fifty-fifty chance Benny will actually be home though, since these days Benny spends half the year working Security on a luxury liner. So when Benny answers his door, Dean can’t help but fall through it with relief.  
  
“Woah, hey there, brother,” Benny rumbles, catching Dean with his big, solid arms.  
  
“Benny!” Dean gasps, slumping against him.  
  
“What’s the matter, cher?” Benny asks, immediately concerned. He pulls away just enough to tilt Dean’s face up by the chin, frowning as he checks Dean over. “Did someone hurt you?” Benny asks gently, searching Dean’s eyes.  
  
“Benny…” Dean chokes out, unable to find the words to reply, but Benny sees the answer in his face anyway.  
  
“Someone did, didn’t they?” he rumbles, pulling Dean close again. “What you need, cher? Tell Benny how to make it better.”  
  
And that’s all it takes for Dean to launch himself at Benny’s mouth. “Fuck me, Benny, please, I need to be fucked,” Dean gasps in between frantic presses of his lips, pushing Benny towards the bedroom.  
  
“Mmmm, you sure?” Benny rumbles, though he’s already responding to Dean’s kisses. “That’s what you want?”  
  
“Yes!” Dean practically yells, “Yes!”  
  
“Well alrighty then, sugar,” Benny chuckles, lifting Dean off the floor and carrying him the rest of the way.  
  
After that, it’s no more questions asked. Which is exactly what Dean wants. As soon as Benny drops him on the mattress, they get naked as quickly as possible, spend the bare minimum of time prepping, and then he’s taking Benny’s thick cock, hard and fast, just the way he likes.  
  
“Mmm, missed this,” Benny moans, his big, meaty hands kneading the insides of Dean’s thighs. And yeah, Dean’s missed this too. It’s simple. Uncomplicated. It’s just sex, and it’s fucking fantastic… and yet, everytime he looks into Benny’s eyes, he can’t help but think that they’re the wrong shade of blue.  
  
He shoves Benny back just enough to be able to turn onto his stomach, presses his face into a pillow so he doesn’t have to see, then offers his ass up into the air and growls, “ _harder_.”  
  
Benny sinks back into him with a groan, easy, and picks up the pace again, but faster, hips slapping obscenely loud against the skin of Dean’s ass.  
  
“ _Damn,_ cher,” Benny mumbles, “Forgot how good you take it.”  
  
“Give it to me, Benny! Need it,” Dean hisses in response, clawing at the sheets.  
  
“You like that cock?” Benny asks, the smirk audible in his voice.  
  
“ _Yeah_ Benny, it’s all I fucking _want_ ,” Dean groans mindlessly, reaching back to spread his cheeks, holding himself open for it.  
  
“ _Merde_ ,” Benny curses at that, his thrusts becoming erratic. “I’m gettin’ real close, cher,” he warns.  
  
“C’mon then! Come on me!” Dean snarls. “Do it!”  
  
“Yeah?” Benny asks shakily. Dean glares over his shoulder, and Benny doesn’t need to be told twice. Pulling his dick out, he shoves his thick fingers inside Dean’s hole, keeping it filled and fucking into it. Then with his other hand he rips off the condom, fisting himself frantically until he’s painting himself all over Dean’s ass and thighs.  
  
Benny takes a long moment to catch his breath after that, then like a true gentlemen, he crooks his fingers inside Dean, massaging at just the right angle as he takes Dean’s cock with his come-covered hand. Dean writhes on Benny’s fingers, fucking into that slick grip until he comes, shouting, in what feels like mere seconds. Benny still knows how to get him off, just right.  
  
Dean squirms on the sheets afterwards, running his fingers through the come on his stomach and on the backs of his thighs, mixing it together and smearing it all over his skin, like he’s trying to mark himself with it.  
  
“Ain’t you a picture,” Benny chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement as he watches. “Better now?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
“Thanks, Benny,” Dean replies. Though it’s not exactly an answer. He feels well-used and thoroughly fucked-out, which is exactly what he came here for… but it’s just not enough.  
  
Benny sighs, too observant to miss what Dean’s not saying, but he doesn’t try to pry any further, and Dean’s grateful. Instead, Benny slides out of bed, wiping himself off with a t-shirt before pulling on his boxers. “I’m gon’ go cook some breakfast. Feel free to use the shower whenever you’re ready to get up,” he says, gesturing towards the en-suite.  
  
“Thanks, Benny,” Dean says again, and it’s much more genuine this time.  
  
He doesn’t know why he and Benny never tried for something more. Benny’s easy to get along with, the sex is usually fantastic, and _fuck_ does Benny know how to take care of him. By the time Dean’s done burning his skin off in the shower, Benny’s got a full meal of Dean’s favourite comfort foods waiting for him in the kitchen, complete with pie baking in the oven.  
  
“For that _other_ hungry hole o’ yours,” Benny smirks when Dean nearly drools at it all.  
  
It’s still so early the sun’s hardly up yet, but they sit down in Benny’s tiny, but cosy kitchen, and tuck in anyway. It’s easy, and companionable, and maybe in time, it could be enough… But there will always be this _difference_ , that Dean is aware of now, and suspects he’ll never be able to ignore. As soon as Dean stepped through Benny’s door, the man gave him everything he wanted… but it wasn’t what he _needed_.  
  
Yes, the sex was great, but it just wasn’t _enough_. Not anymore. Blanket acceptance isn’t the answer either. Dean needs to be _seen_. Dean needs Castiel.  
  
He just doesn’t feel Benny deep down in his bones the way Castiel has seared himself there, right on his ribcage and impossible to erase or hide or cover up, no matter how filthy Dean makes himself. And he knows that no matter how far he runs, there will always be something inside him, whispering to see Cas again, like a goddamn prayer.  
  
Benny invites Dean to stay the rest of the night, and as appealing as it sounds, Dean knows he’s not going to be able to sleep until he picks up his car, clears out his locker, and never has to see the club or the hotel ever again.  
  
Benny is kind enough to drive Dean back to the club in the rattling deathtrap he calls a vehicle. One day Dean’s going to pop the hood and see what he can do with the thing, whether Benny likes it or not. It’s the least Dean can do. They’re still arguing about it good-naturedly when Benny pulls into the club’s parking lot, but when Dean looks up, he trails off into silence mid-sentence.  
  
There’s a huddled trenchcoat on the ground next to the Impala, that quickly unfurls into the shape of Castiel, rumpled and red-eyed and hair a mess from running his hands through it… for _hours_. Waiting for Dean, _all night_. While Dean was off getting fucked by Benny.  
  
Dean thinks he sees a brief flash of hurt cross Castiel’s face, when Cas sees him with the other man, and feels a vindictive rush of satisfaction at that. But then Dean remembers what he actually came here to do, and realizes that he’s still going to have to get out Benny’s car, and face it.  
  
“You want me to take you somewhere else?” Benny asks, taking one look at Dean and putting two and two together.  
  
Dean takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “No. It’s okay,” he replies. He’ll just get it over with as quickly as he can, like ripping off a band-aid.  
  
“You want me to stay?” Benny offers then, eyeing Castiel warily.  
  
“No. Thanks, Benny,” Dean says, giving him a small smile of gratitude for the thought. Benny can’t protect Dean from this kind of hurt.  
  
“Okay, chief,” Benny replies, giving Dean a mock-salute. “You know where to find me if you need me.”  
  
Dean nods, giving Benny one last grateful smile as he reaches for the door handle.  
  
Castiel rushes forward as soon as Dean steps out of the truck, but Dean doesn’t even wait for the glare of Benny’s headlights to recede before he’s pushing past, heading straight for the club’s back entrance.  
  
“Dean! Please, wait! Please, just let me just explain,” Cas babbles frantically, scrambling to catch up with him. Dean just keeps walking, pretending Cas isn’t even there, pretending the wrecked sound of Castiel’s voice isn’t twisting at him inside.  
  
“Dean, _please_ ,” Castiel persists. “I’m so sorry. Crowley means nothing to me! It was just sex--”  
  
Almost as soon as the words are out of Castiel’s mouth Dean whirls around, punching him square in the jaw.  
  
Castiel staggers back, cradling his jaw and stunned into silence.  
  
Dean takes the moment of reprieve and turns back towards the club, throwing himself through the backdoor. When it slams shut behind him, he has to lean back against it for a second, taking deep breaths and regaining his bearings.  
  
The club is deserted, the last of the staff having left hours ago, but there’s still some safety lights on, so Dean finds his way to the dressing room easy enough. He pulls his duffel out of his locker and haphazardly starts throwing everything inside it, then picks out the things on the dressing table that are his and throws them in the bag too. He briefly wonders if there’s a chance that Crowley’s still around so he can officially the man he’s quitting, but the thought of going anywhere near that office makes Dean’s stomach lurch. And there’s no telling what Dean will do to the man if he sees him again. Dean figures his empty locker should be enough of a message.  
  
Only problem is, Cas is still waiting for him when he leaves. Not like he really thought the punch would throw Cas off anyway, but he’d hoped.  
  
“Dean, please, it’s not what you think,” Castiel resumes his assault as soon as Dean steps out the door. “It was the only way Crowley would let me see you! I’m broke, Dean, it was the only way!”  
  
That gives Dean pause. “…What?”  
  
“I’m broke,” Castiel repeats. “And the only way Crowley would let me see you was if… I offered something in return.”  
  
“You’re telling me you… _sold_ _yourself_ to Crowley, as payment to sleep with _me?_ ” Dean huffs in disbelief, utterly gobsmacked. “You _dumb_ son of a bitch. _Why?_ ”  
  
Castiel crumples a little then, huffing a sigh that’s half exasperation, half resignation. “Why do you _think_?” he says, his expression softening as he reaches out to take Dean’s hand in his own, gently caressing Dean’s skin with his thumb.  
  
Dean is too stunned to do anything but allow it, still blinking stupidly at Castiel’s admission, and all the layers of meaning that come with it.  
  
He supposes he’s always known, buried under layers and layers of his own, how Castiel feels about him _._ But he’s never _really_ examined it before, dug it up and held it in front of his face to really _look_ at it, to really _know._ And now that he does, all he can think is, “Why _me?_ ”  
  
Castiel shakes his head. “For someone who is so pleasing to look at, I don’t know why you don’t really want to _see_ yourself. From the first moment I saw you at the club, Dean, I knew. You are beautiful, and good, inside and out. And you have spent every moment since then, proving me right. You took care of me. You were _there_ for me. And what kind of person would I be if I didn’t do the same for you?”  
  
“But… I never asked you for anything,” Dean chokes out.  
  
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t need it. Or that you don’t deserve it.”  
  
“I--” Dean’s throat croaks when he tries to speak again. “You should’ve said something. You didn’t have to go through Crowley. We could’ve worked something out.”  
  
“I wasn’t sure you would still want to see me,” Castiel explains. “I wasn’t sure you felt the same way… until tonight.”  
  
Dean nods, biting his lip. If it had hurt that much to see Castiel with Crowley, how had it hurt Castiel all this time, knowing Dean was with other people? And yet, Castiel still thought he was something good, something worth _loving…_  
  
Dean sighs heavily, suddenly exhausted as the events of the night finally catch up to him. He doesn’t want to feel that kind of hurt again, and he doesn’t want to hurt Castiel anymore either.  
  
“Don’t come see me here anymore, Cas,” Dean says.  
  
“Oh,” Castiel says quietly in disappointment, starting to draw his hand away.  
  
“No, I mean, I’m quitting. So I won’t _be_ here,” Dean explains, squeezing Castiel’s hand tight before he can let go.  
  
“Oh,” Castiel says again, this time soft with comprehension, something pleased flickering in his eyes and tugging at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Come to my place?” Dean asks softly, stepping closer. Castiel nods, the small smile on his lips blooming into something more full, tension and remorse giving way to relief and hope.  
  
On the short drive to Dean’s apartment, the sun finally dawns into the world, lighting their way, and Castiel’s eyes are clear and bright as he watches Dean from the other side of the car. It reminds Dean of something one of his clients told him once – an old widower who got lonely sometimes and came to Dean for company every now and then. Cain was only ever interested in conversation, still completely devoted to his wife, even years after her death, and at the time Dean couldn’t really understand it. So the man had tried to explain – how he’d done horrible things in his youth, but even though his wife saw who he was, _what_ he was, she still forgave him, and loved him unconditionally. Dean thinks he’s beginning to understand now, how that kind of love can change a man, and the entire drive he clings to the very real weight of Castiel’s hand, anchored in his own.  
  
When they arrive at his apartment, Dean pauses on the threshold, unsure what to do. He’s never brought anyone to his place before. Besides Sam, that is. And he doesn’t quite know how to proceed. It’s not even worth giving Cas a tour of the place, it’s so bare.  
  
Thankfully, Cas seems to know what to do. He pries the duffle from Dean’s hand, dropping it on the floor, before stripping Dean out of his coat and hanging on the empty coat-rack by the door. Castiel’s familiar trenchcoat goes up next, and already Dean can’t help but think the place feels more homey with the second coat there. It’s not hard for Castiel to navigate to the bedroom after that, pulling Dean along by the hand. And when they get there Castiel continues to strip off Dean’s layers, as well is his own, carefully draping them over the foot of Dean’s bed.  
  
Dean’s room is perhaps the homiest room in the entire apartment, as it’s the only one he really uses at all. Most of his time is spent at the club or in other people’s beds, but when he’s here it’s usually to catch some sleep before he heads back to the club again. So this is where he keeps pictures of his family, framed on his bedside table where he can see them the most often – Sam, his dad, his mom. For a second he feels a little nervous about Cas being in his room, like he’s bringing Cas to meet the family. But then Cas kisses him, careful and sweet, and it can’t feel more right.  
  
Castiel strips them down to their boxers before pulling Dean into bed with him, like it’s actually Cas’ bed that he’s inviting Dean into, and pulls the covers over them before he tangles their limbs together, wrapping Dean up in his arms.  
  
“What do you need, Dean?” Cas whispers, though the answer is clear.  
  
“This. Just this.”  
  
~  
  
“Hey, Sam.”  
  
_“Dean.”_  
  
 “I uh… I quit, Sam.”  
  
_“…What? For real?”_  
  
“For real. I’m done. I’m out.”  
  
_“Dean… that’s… I’m proud of you, Dean.”_  
  
“Thanks, Sammy.”  
  
_“So… What are you going to do now?”_  
  
“I don’t know. I was thinking of maybe getting some mechanic work again.”  
  
_“Well, you know Bobby will always have work for you.”_  
  
“Yeah I know. But I don’t think I want to move to South Dakota right now. I mean, I might move out of the city, but I don’t really want to leave Kansas altogether. It’s home, you know?”  
  
_“Even after everything that’s happened there?”_  
  
“It hasn’t all been bad.”  
  
_“… You met someone, didn’t you?”_  
  
“Yeah, I guess I did.”  
  
_“So it’s serious.”_  
  
“Yeah, Sam, it is. His name’s Cas. And he’s… Sammy, he’s…”  
  
_“Huh. Utter speechlessness. He must be something special then.”_  
  
“He is.”  
  
_“Well, I’m happy for you, Dean. Really.”_  
  
“So, uh… Does that mean I’m forgiven?”  
  
_“… It’s a start.”_  
  
“Okay…?”  
  
_“Look, Dean, I get why you did what you did, even though I don’t approve of it. But… I think what hurts the most is you keeping it from me.”_  
  
“Sam…”  
  
_“No, let me finish, Dean. I hate that you had to go through that alone, but I think I get why you kept it from me too.”_  
  
“You… do?”  
  
_“Yeah, Dean. I mean, if I had to do the kinds of things… you were doing… I don’t think I’d want to talk about it either. Much less think about it.”_  
  
“Sam, it wasn’t that bad, really…”  
  
_“But it was bad enough that you felt you had to keep it from me.”_  
  
“No, Sam--“  
  
_“--Or that I wouldn’t understand, or whatever. But I know you, Dean. I know how you avoid dealing with things. I know how you try to pretend your problems don’t exist in the hopes they’ll just go away. And I know that’s probably part of why you didn’t tell me, but… it’s not a healthy way to deal with things.”_  
  
“Yeah, I know. But I think I’m ready to start working on that.”  
  
_“…That wouldn’t have anything to do with this Cas guy, would it?”_  
  
“Maybe it does.”  
  
_“So I guess I should expect a plus one for the wedding?”_  
  
“Dude that’s months away. You haven’t even sent out invites yet.”  
  
_“You’re right. Plenty of time to arrange a double wedding.”_  
  
“Oh my God, you’re such a girl.”  
  
_“Says the man who was rendered speechless by the mere thought of his new boyfriend.”_  
  
“…Bitch.”  
  
_“Jerk.”_  
  
_“_ I’m really sorry, Sam.”  
  
_“I know. Just don’t ever keep something like that from me again.”_  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
_“You know I just want you to be happy.”_  
  
“I know. I’m ready to start working on that too.”  
  
~  
  
Dean ends the call with a grin on his face, wondering when exactly his little brother became the parent in their relationship. Maybe around the time Dean became the big kid, misbehaving and burying himself in his vices, refusing to grow up and face his problems for far too long.  
  
As he puts his phone back down on the bedside table, he glances at the framed picture of Sam there. It was taken at Sam’s High School graduation, and Dean has his arm slung around his brother’s shoulder, so proud of him for graduating at the top of his class. Sam looks so young, so carefree. How many mornings had Dean woken up to that picture, and let it fuel his choices, using it as justification for the things he did? It was one of those things Dean never let himself think about too much, but he realizes his error now. He’d easily fallen into the trap most parents do, always remembering how small Sammy used to be, how vulnerable and naïve, no matter how old he is now, still wanting to protect him.  
  
But his little brother is all grown up now. Grown up enough to want to get married, get a job and a house, have kids… Grown up enough to be the bigger man, and forgive Dean, no matter what. And if that gangly little kid who used to follow Dean around can grow up, then Dean can grow up too.  
  
“Were you talking to someone?” Castiel’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and Dean looks up to see the man emerging from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. Dean’s grin widens.  
  
“Yeah, I was on the phone with Sam,” Dean replies.  
  
“Is everything alright?” Cas asks, brows furrowing with concern.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean answers, settling into his grin with a content sigh. “We’re working things out.”  
  
“I’m glad,” Castiel smiles, sincere relief in his voice.  
  
“Me too,” Dean replies. And for once, in a long time, he means it. He and Sam are on the road to becoming closer than ever, and he and Cas? Well…  
  
Dean feels his gaze soften as he takes in the sight of Castiel standing there in his bedroom, skin pink from the heat of the shower, hair towel-rumpled and sticking up in every direction, clean and seemingly untouched by the things he’d done for Dean. With Dean. _Because_ of Dean. So clean, Dean wonders if maybe someday Cas might make him clean again too. He might already be starting to.  
  
“C’mere,” Dean murmurs, hand reaching out to beckon Castiel closer. Castiel steps forward to take it, letting Dean pull him in until he’s close enough for Dean to comfortably grip his hips, gazing up at him.  
  
When he’d woken up in Castiel’s arms, it was already well into the day, but Cas was still wrapped snugly around him, hardly moved from the position they’d fallen asleep in. Dean had come-to slowly, bleary from a sleep of deep exhaustion, but warm and comfortable, and when he’d finally opened his eyes Cas was already awake, watching him. From the focus in Cas’ eyes, Dean could tell Cas had been watching him for a while. And the _way_ Cas was looking at him – soft and reverent, and maybe a little amazed that he was allowed to be there, looking at Dean at all… It’s a lot like the way Cas is looking at him now, lost in a long moment where they’re sharing the same smile, waiting to feel the shape of it against each other’s lips.  
  
“What is it?” Castiel inquires softly when the silence draws on.  
  
“Let me look at you,” Dean whispers, reaching for the end of Castiel’s towel where it’s tucked around his waist. “I want to see you,” he explains. He wants to see every part of Castiel, all of it, outside and in, look into Castiel’s very soul, the way Castiel looks at _him._  
  
“Wait,” Castiel reaches down, gently clasping Dean’s fingers and pulling them away. “Let me,” he murmurs.  
  
Slowly, Castiel tugs the end of the towel free, letting it unravel around him from its own weight. Slowly still, he extends his arm, pulling the towel away from the front of his body, and uncovering himself. Dean draws in a sharp breath at the sight of him, long lines and pale planes of lean muscle, already half-hard as he lets the towel drop to the floor. It’s only one piece of material, but its removal is just as erotic to Dean as any of his elaborate strip-routines, and he responds to it as such, hardening as well.  
  
And then, reminding Dean of their first time together, Castiel climbs into his lap, grinding softly, tentatively, just as Dean had for Cas back then. He grips Castiel’s hips, breath shaky as Castiel leans closer, and licks his lips in anticipation. But at the last moment, Dean’s gaze flicks away from Castiel’s mouth, drawn to Castiel’s eyes, addicted to them, as he has been from the very beginning.  
  
Dean kisses him. Slow, and unhurried, because he has the time to do that now. And he doesn’t have to pretend that he’s just giving Cas what he wants anymore, or tell himself that he doesn’t want it either, because he knows that he does now. There’s a calmness in his surety, and yet, at the same time he feels ripped open and raw, like Cas has pried open his ribcage and is holding Dean’s heart in his hands.  
  
Maybe that’s exactly what Castiel’s done, in a way, because maybe Dean had to be broken open, before he could let anyone in. And while Dean is sure about what he’s doing, sure about Castiel, it doesn’t make it any less terrifying. He’s stripped off his clothes in front of countless men and women, but he’s never felt as bared as he does now. There’s no way to hide anymore, no more roles to shield himself with, nowhere to run to. There’s just him and Cas, here and now, nothing left between them as they slide into bed together, and it feels like something different – new, and big, but Dean’s ready to learn what it is.  
  
“Hey, Cas?” Dean whispers. “Be careful with me okay? I’ve never done this before.”  
  
Castiel tilts his head at Dean in confusion, frowning down at their bodies, naked and pressed against each other underneath the sheets, like they have been many times before.  
  
“I mean, I’ve never… uh… I’ve never _made love_ to someone before,” Dean explains.  
  
“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel smiles. “I’ll show you.”

  
_~ fin_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't really plan for the fic to end there, but once I got there it just seemed fitting :) Also, this fic was **NOT BETA'd** , and the last chapter was rather hastily edited, so if there are any glaring mistakes or things that still need explaining please let me know and I'll do my best to accommodate!
> 
> Finally, big thanks to Shen and Frea for putting together the [WIP Big Bang](http://wipbigbang.livejournal.com/), without which I might never have finished this mess of random scenes I'd collected over the past _decade_ :s 
> 
> And thanks again to Cat for her [fantastic art](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/tagged/any-old-music-art) (NSFW warning!) Here's one last [bonus piece](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/88237495364) <3


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